I'm Still Breathing
by icygirI
Summary: AU. No zombies. Michonne Tilley could possibly have been the one to end the life her fiancé Mike Walsh. But does that stop the lead investigator Rick Grimes from developing feelings for her? Nah.
1. Chapter One of Many

**_a/n: first fanfic ever. please leave a review. thanks!_**

 ** _i do not own the walking dead or its characters._** ** _i will be updating this fic every week on tuesday if i can, night or day._**

* * *

She had her arms swathed around her knees, her back to the wall, cold droplets running down her face.

Michonne shivered, staring downward below the staircase where the form of Mike Walsh lay chillingly still. The carpet beneath him carried a pool of fresh blood that was gradually sinking into the tan wool.

His eyes were open, brown, and lifeless. A silver necklace lay a few feet away from his right hand, and a phone beside it, it was blinking, an animated tune playing its loop for the second time.

"I can't answer the phone right now." Michonne whispered to herself as she rocked against the wall. "I can't answer the phone right now. Something happened. I can't answer the-" She froze at the sound of police sirens.

Blue, red, and white lights blinked into the window and onto her face. Michonne gasped as she crawled to it and peeked through the blinds, a single King's County cruiser had been parked in front of the Walsh residence.

"The police." She whispered. "Who called the-" She broke off, remembering the screams, the shouting, the thuds. It must've been because of the noise.

Michonne picked herself up and hurried up another flight of stairs, her eyes wide, her slippers sliding off her feet and falling down the stairs. Michonne found the open bathroom and entered the small room. She stepped into the tub.

She sat still as she heard the rough voices of the officers coming from the downstairs area, a few shouts as they most-likely discovered Mike's body and she shivered again. Rolling herself into a ball and shutting the noise out with a low hum.

It was a song she used to hum to Andre every night before she sent him to live with her parents and sisters due to an increase in Mike's temper. At this moment, she wanted to see her son and she wanted to hum to him again.

She'd probably been rocking herself for at least ten minutes before the shower curtain came flying open and a voice echoed through the bathroom.

"Get up, Miss. Raise your hands. Slowly." It was the gruff voice of a police officer.

Michonne blinked into the tub, her shadowed reflection staring back at her as she unwrapped her arms from her knees and raised her hands in the air while lifting herself into a standing position.

She faced upward to the white male cop whose gun and flashlight were directed in her face.

"Who are you? What's your name?"

"I-I live here." Michonne blinked away from the bright light. "My name is Michonne Tilley."

He tucked his flashlight in his belt and began lowering the weapon. But not a second later she saw his eyes widen and found herself once again staring down the barrel of his gun. "Is- _is that blood?_ "

His eyes were trained to her throat, where Michonne looked down and saw the mess of blood that had collected into her collarbone and up her throat and chin. Also her hands were covered in it, her button-up and skirt completely matted with the dark red fluid.

Before she could answer, he roughly caught a grip on her arm and twisted her around so she couldn't see him as he patted her down.

"No weapons?" He breathed heavily as his hands tapped lightly at her thighs and legs down to her ankles.

She held her arms up as he dug into the back and front pockets of her jeans.

The cop began speaking again. "Can't tell whether this blood is yours or…"

"Or Mike's?" Michonne finished with raised brows.

The cop stopped touching on her and turned her back around, his gun in her face again, his other hand gripping her shoulder. "You killed that man downstairs?"

Michonne looked down, her bottom lip quivering. "I—"

She was once again spun around and away from him, but this time, she could hear the thick sounds of cuffs being locked around each of her wrists.

"I'm bringing you in, okay?" He helped her out of the tub. "We'll get your statement there."

As they went through the open bathroom door and entered the dark hall, another cop began mounting the steps. She was a female.

"Rick?" The woman tucked her gun into its holster and held up her flashlight.

She continued toward them, and as she stepped into the pool of moonlight that spilled in through the overhead window, Michonne couldn't help but acknowledge her beauty.

With a mop of dark red hair swept up into a messy braid and brown skin, Michonne found a gasp of recognition leaving her lips as she saw that the woman's hazel eyes were glistening with tears, her nose red, skin puffy.

"It's Mike, Rick." She whispered, her head lowered. "He's-he's dead, he-" The cop looked up and finally took in Michonne in cuffs. "Michonne?" She pointed the light directly in Michonne's face, squinting in confusion.

"Alannah?" Michonne knew her shock was visible on her face as she looked directly at Mike's cousin.

The shock quickly went away from Alannah's visage, and she looked angrier more than anything as she stepped forward. "You killed Mike?"

Rick—the cop who had been leading her from the bathroom released a saddened sigh. "Alannah—we should wait until we get to the station to ask questions. Did you call for a bus?"

"Y-yeah, I did." Alannah tore her eyes away from Michonne.

"And he's definitely dead?"

"Absolutely." Alannah wiped away her tears as she turned toward the stairs.

* * *

"So you don't remember anything?"

Michonne shook her head, moving a lock of hair from her eyes and behind her ear. She gazed down at her hands at the tears that had plopped down onto them. "Nothing. It's like a fog in my head. All I can remember is being covered in blood, and finding my dead fiancé."

"There's more." Alannah looked away from her partner Rick, who she sat beside at the table in the interrogation room, looking incredibly riled up while Rick was incredibly calm. "There has to be more. You don't…" She released a frustrated breath. "You _can't_ just _murder_ someone and then forget. That's _not_ how it works."

"But that _is_ possible, Alannah." Rick propped his chin up against his hand as he spoke to her. "People can black out during—"

"This is bullshit, Michonne!" Alannah burst out of the table, kicking aside her chair, making Michonne jump. "I _know_ you were never happy with Mike! Not really! I know you two fought all the time, I know you weren't the perfect couple that everyone made you out to be. Just tell me the truth. Tell me what you did."

Michonne looked up, eyes clogging with tears. She hated crying.

"I wish I could, Alannah, honestly. I'm-I'm not denying that I did it. I just don't remember _doing_ it."

Alannah looked back at Michonne with a death stare, and began heading in her direction. But Rick quickly stood and blocked her path, stopping Alannah from doing anything further.

"You should go home." Rick told her, placing his hand on her shoulder. "You need to process everything that's happened, call your family."

Alannah stared at him for a moment, before looking down and nodding. "I—y-you're right." She sighed, blinking her watery eyes causing a single tear to drip on the ground. "But I'm coming back first thing in the morning."

"And that's fine." Rick removed his hand and sighed. "But come back clear-headed, you don't want to go off the deep end in this room."

She pursed her lips, nodding again as she turned away and left the room. Her angry aura fading along with her.

Rick sighed and turned to face Michonne, ready to speak again but the interrogation room had opened again.

A woman walked inside dressed in medical scrubs, carrying a white case that resembled a first aid kit. She sat that on the table. "I got a call from Alannah?"

"Yeah." Rick walked over to the wall and leaned his back against it. "Do your thing, Denise."

Denise, the chubby woman who wore her brunette hair in a pony-tail with her glasses propped up on her face, unclipped the case and pulled out a pair of gloves, which she shoved both her hands inside. She then grabbed a Q-tip from the case along with a small bottle for the thing.

She turned to Michonne. "Can you stand up, please?"

Michonne nodded, pushing her chair back and getting on both feet. Denise approached her and pressed her gloved fingers to her blood-stained chin, twisting it upward to get a better look.

"I heard the victim was Alannah's cousin." Denise spoke as she closely examined Michonne.

"That he was." Rick told the doctor. He had pulled out his phone and was swiping on it. "I'm not sure if they were really close, though."

Denise shook her head as if to say ' _what a_ _shame_ '. "Still family."

Rick grunted in agreement while Michonne watched their interactions.

"Looks like you've got a bad gash here." Denise angled Michonne's head to the side before turning to Rick. "I don't think the blood belongs to our victim. It might be completely her own."

Rick unhitched himself from the wall, sticking his phone inside the front pocket of his dress pants, puzzlement set in his knitted eyebrows.

"But that doesn't make any sense." Michonne said, feeling just as confused as the officer looked.

Rick crossed his arms over his chest. "Could very well be. But I want it all tested. The blood on her clothes, on her skin, in her jewelry. It could be the victim's and hers mixed in together." Rick looked tired as he eyed Michonne.

Michonne averted her gaze.

"Alright." Denise used her Q-tip to swipe some blood from the open gash in Michonne's throat, Michonne shivered and moaned quietly of pain. "Sorry."

Denise dug deeper into the kit and came away with a bandage roll, she used that to wrap completely around Michonne's head, lifting up a wealth of locks to completely do the deed. She cut and taped the bandage to an end and set the roll back in the kit.

"After we get all of your belongings bagged and sent to my lab, I'll have you sent to the Harry-Medium Hospital to get you more efficient help. Maybe get stitched up. Okay?"

Michonne nodded. "Okay."

* * *

Rick shut the heavy restroom door behind the two of them and set the bags on the ground along with an empty bin. "Each piece of clothing and jewelry should be bagged separately, don't wet anything. Set your bagged things in the bin when you're finished."

Michonne nodded again.

Rick stood there, watching her, before opening his mouth again. "Any day now, Ms. Tilley."

Michonne began removing each of her stud earrings as Rick picked up the smallest bag. She moved toward him to give him the earrings and their rubber sleeves when one of the studs fell through an opening in her grip.

The earring popped against the marble ground of the bathroom.

"Shit. Sorry."

Rick held his hand up as he handed her the bag he held. "It's fine, it won't alter the evidence."

She spilled the remaining earring and rubbers into the bag and snapped the bag shut as he got onto his knees to search for the lost jewelry.

She sighed as she twisted her engagement ring around her finger to slip it into another bag. Michonne set that into the bin along with the other jewelry bag.

As she thought she was finished with the jewelry, she remembered another one. Rick stood as he had found the stud earring and dumped it into the bag it was supposed to be in.

Michonne brought her hand into her cleavage.

"Woah." Rick's eyes widened. "Uh...what are you doing?" He watched her hands enter her own shirt.

Michonne furrowed her brows. "I thought you said _all_ jewelry, officer."

Rick stayed confused for a moment, squinting at her. Then he made out the knob-shaped protuberance of the piercing through the material of her shirt.

He raised his eyebrows. "O-oh yeah, I did."

Michonne found herself snickering unbelievably for a moment as she twisted off one of the ballpoints to remove the piercing. Michonne pulled both from her shirt and cupped them in her one hand.

Rick remembered suddenly what they were doing and knelt for another bag. He held it out as she dropped the jewelry inside.

"That all?"

"Yeah."

Rick's eyes went down her form. "So…no other…" His eyes stopped just at her skirt. "…private _ornaments_?"

Michonne brushed a cord back on her head, shifting on her feet. "Uh, no. Never got one of those."

"Well, alright." Rick dropped the bag in the bin. "I'll be in the station while you get your clothes ready for Dr. Cloyd, and I'll be back with more clothes for you to wear to the hospital. I'll be quick, wouldn't want you bleeding out before you get professional aid."

Michonne nodded her head in approval as he picked up the bin and began heading for the door.

"Officer." she said low.

He turned. "What is it?"

"Do you believe I did it?"

Rick released a deep sigh. "Do you?"

Michonne could feel her doubt overpowering her certainty as she threw her hands up. "All evidence seems to be pointing in that direction, so…"

Rick fully turned to face her. "If you feel you didn't do it, just be honest. Believe me when I say no one wants anyone to be punished for something they didn't do."

Michonne pressed her lips together. "But I'd have had good reason, though."

"Huh?" He hadn't heard her.

Michonne quickly shook her head at him. "Nothing." She tugged at the neckline of her shirt. "Any day now, officer."

Rick nodded, a hint of amusement on his face, and shut the door behind him.

Michonne released a breath as she began unbuttoning her top, when she noticed the indentation her ring had left on her finger.

Wiggling her hand, she sighed.

" _What did I do to you, Mike?_ " She whispered to herself as she pulled her top off.


	2. Chapter Two of Many

**a/n: i have never been so grateful in my life, thank you so much for all of your reviews and feedback. i will forever be grateful.**

* * *

Michonne blinked, emotionlessly gazing upward at the ceiling of the hospital room, which was so small it had begun to feel stuffy.

The doctor held her chin in an uncomfortable position as he worked with the needle. She couldn't feel a thing since she'd been numbed, but she knew necks and needles were a bad combination, it kept her terrified, kept her feeling pain that wasn't even there.

"All done, Ms. Tilley." The male doctor released her throat from his grip and set the curved stitching needle onto the blue cloth with the other tools.

Michonne watched him dress her stitched throat with a bandage just as the door to the room had opened and in stepped the cop who'd brought her here himself.

"Dr. Cloyd just called, I have to be getting out of here." He announced in his deep-ish voice, which was also smooth and had a pleasant flow. He tucked his cell phone into his pocket as he had done once before in the interrogation room.

"That's okay." Said the doctor. "We're just finishing up here."

"Any medical info or helpful tips I might need to know how to deal with this thingy later on?" She asked.

Michonne slipped from the bed, landing lightly on the used flip-flops she wore, they were gray, which was also the color of the baggy sweatshirt and flimsy sweatpants she sported. All courtesy of the cop, Rick.

She watched him scratch the back of his head impatiently before facing the doctor again.

"Just make sure you don't get it wet. Don't scratch the sutures. And wash daily to minimize the chance of infection before you come back to get them removed." The doctor told her.

She inclined her head to him, catching herself in the reflection of a mirror that sat on the wall above the television. She'd cleaned herself, skin clear of any blood. But in a quick flash, she thought she saw herself once again drenched in the dark red fluid, but with a blink and gasp she came to know that she had just imagined it.

"Ms. Tilley." Rick quickly drew her attention from the mirror with his restlessness. "Let's go."

* * *

Every one of her steps made a loud smacking sound against the marble tile of the hospital, which attracted a few irritated gazes who then continued to judge her garb, but Michonne made no attempt to reduce her pace or feel insecure. She was not to blame for the bland, ill-fitting wardrobe and footwear that had been granted to her from the saturnine hands of police officers.

"It's Michonne." She muttered, while they were quickly advancing toward the EXIT doors.

The cop, who towered above her with only a few feet on him, looked down at her just as he gripped the handle and pulled the door out for them. "Hmm?"

"I don't like to be called Ms. Tilley. It's Michonne." She stepped out in front of him, making her way to the parked cruiser.

She stood by and waited for him to pull open the backseat door. When he did, she slid inside. She heard him shut the door and then round the car to duck into the driver's seat. Closing his own door, he started up the car and they backed out of the parking lot.

"Are you always so quiet with your suspects?" She asked harmlessly.

"Only with the accused murderers." He quickly shot back, leaving her to wonder whether he was fucking with her or not, but decided on the latter because she didn't see a cop doing so.

The ride was silent for a whole minute.

"I—ah—I guess I just never know what to say." He admitted, surprising her. Dipping closer to the windshield to get a better look of the road as he turned a corner. "And I doubt ' _I'm trying to figure out if I think you're a murderer or not_ ' will make for great conversation."

She shook her head, watching the side of his head, where his dark curls snaked and locked around his ears, it was an appealing sight. "Do your thoughts really matter in a situation like this, though? Without evidence?" She asked, leaning her head forward, though he couldn't see her.

"They don't." He tilted his head to the side in agreement with her, the car slowing to a stop at a red light. His eyes met hers through the rear-view mirror. "But…sometimes I can tell off the back. Without the evidence."

She half-way squinted at him just as he looked away. "If that's true, then fill me in, _officer_ …have you been able to tell if I'm a killer or not?"

"It's Rick." His eyes went to the mirror again, locking eyes with her through it. With the bright sun stabbing through the window, she saw that his eyes were a pale blue that only got paler with more light. "And I'm still trying to figure that out."

As the car drove through the green light, she found herself realizing how strange it was to be speaking with a cop in such a relaxed, almost flippant manner when she was in her own situation. Not knowing what would happen to her, or what she even did.

Michonne's eyes went to her hand, falling to one of her fingers, the one that was usually adorned with her engagement ring. Knowing everything that had happened leading up to his death, she knew it was almost wrong to miss its presence on her finger.

* * *

"He was stabbed _four_ times." Denise rounded the autopsy table to pull back the blanket of the man who was once very much alive.

Rick watched intently as her gloved hands showed him the rough wounds in the man's body.

" _Once_ in the shoulder," her hand showed him the inch-long laceration there in his shoulder, " _twice_ in the chest," right above his nipples were the same-sized openings, "and _once_ in the abdomen." Above his belly was the singular identical incision.

Rick followed her around the table, eyes lingering on Mike's still face. His dark skin was pale now, with a deathly grayish glaze. He pulled the covering back over the man's face.

"So he was pushed down the staircase and _then_ stabbed to death?"

Denise straightened her glasses on her face. "Well yeah, except, you missed something."

"Wha-" Rick bunched his eyebrows together in disbelief. "You're telling me there's more?"

She nodded at him, earning a sickened look from Rick.

She pulled back the blanket again. "First, Mike was shoved down the stairs. I couldn't tell whether he was pushed or if he had fallen, but since he was killed, I say he was pushed. Second," Denise pressed her hand to Mike's chin and lifted it upward. "Unsuccessful strangulation."

Rick's puzzled eyes followed what she had been showing him, and when his eyes adjusted, he made out the patterned impressions that continued around Mike's throat in deep grooves.

"When _that_ didn't work, _then_ he was stabbed to death." Denise watched Rick as he reached for a glove from another table and slapped that onto his right hand.

Rick's gloved fingertips brushed against the indentations in Mike's throat. "Any idea what could've made these?"

"Yes." Denise removed her own gloves and went over to the desk, there she pulled up a thick set of papers. She approached Rick again and handed them to him. "I was looking over these crime scene photos last night trying to figure out what the hell they had used to try and choke him out with. It was right there in front of me."

She watched Rick's eyes burn into the paper as she pointed beside Mike's disheveled body at the small spark of silver that lay beside a phone on the ground near the bloodied carpet, beside Mike's hand. "That necklace you found beside his body? Yeah. That's what they used."

Rick fixed the papers together and handed them back to Denise. "Have the DNA tests gotten back to you yet? Do you know if it was Mike's blood on Michonne's clothes and jewelry?"

Denise shook her head as she approached the desk to set the papers back. "I've been waiting for most of the tests to finish, but so far, none of her clothes contain Mike's blood." She turned to him, a hopeful note in her voice. "Now, we may have missed it but the earrings don't have any blood on them, neither does the other piercing. We're still checking out the engagement ring. But…Mike's death was a messy one. If she had been stabbing him as wildly as the wounds indicate, her clothes would have had to have been covered in his blood."

Rick's eyebrows reached his hairline. "What are you saying?"

Denise shrugged. "Based on everything I just told you, I think it's safe to say Michonne didn't do this."

* * *

Michonne sat at the edge of the bed, leaned over trying to fit the heel of her foot into one of her sister's navy sling backs. Her dreadlocks spilling past her cheek and shoulders.

"I didn't hear you come in."

She looked up, faced with Antoinette who wore a spaghetti strap dress, her hair puffed into its natural afro.

Michonne pushed hair behind on her head. "The officer dropped me off a few hours ago. I took a nap."

Antoinette leaned against the doorframe. "You look good in that dress, Mich."

Michonne looked down at herself, almost nervously. A fitting black dress was what she had decided on after rummaging through the guest bedroom's closet. "Thank you. I didn't know if it'd be too much or…"

"It's a funeral. Black's good enough."

Michonne nodded, not making eye contact. What did you say to your sister after you've most likely murdered her almost-brother-in-law?

"I don't want to go, Toni." Michonne admitted, finally getting her heel to slip into the shoe. She stood from the clean bed and brushed at her dress. "The Walsh's are going to be there and you know how I feel about them and how they'll feel about me after what happened."

Antoinette lifted herself from the wall. "This isn't about what you feel, Michonne. If we're going to get you out of this, you're going to have to look sympathetic."

Michonne's eyes met Antoinette's quickly. "As if I don't feel that way already?" She shook her head and approached the vanity table, eying herself in the mirror. The faint red lipstick fit very well with everything she wore.

Michonne picked up a silver ring and slipped that onto her finger, the one missing of Mike's ring.

"Mike wasn't good for you. Or anyone." Antoinette entered the room, stopping behind Michonne by the table. "After all that you told me…he deserved what he got, Michonne. Many more Walsh's deserve—"

Michonne whirled around quickly, grabbing Antoinette by her shoulders. " _Don't_ say that. No one deserves to die. No one." She released her grip on her sister and looked at the ground, suddenly feeling full of sadness, almost not being able to breathe. "H-how do I tell Andre what I did?"

"Andre's 13, Michonne. He'll understand. He knows who Mike really was."

"I _killed_ someone." She said aloud, Michonne clutched at her stomach as the words left her mouth, eyebrows knitted together. "…I kill—killed someone—" She felt something coming up as she slapped a hand over her mouth and hurried out of the room.

The bathroom was only a door away, which made it easier for her to get there. She dropped to her knees by the toilet and hurled into it. It had been the dinner from the night of Mike's death.

She breathed heavily, coughing out everything.

Antoinette was behind her, unwrapping some paper towels. She found herself on her own knees and grabbing Michonne's face. She dabbed away the mess from the vomit.

"You're going to have to be strong, Michonne. I know it's hard. I know…I know you're remembering all the good moments the two of you had together but don't— _don't_ forget what he did."

Michonne looked down at herself. "Do you remember at the start of everything, when the Walsh's and Tilley's were like this?" She knotted both index fingers together.

"That was a long while after you got knocked up by that bartender at 18." Antoinette giggled softly. "Yeah…I remember."

"Mike helped me raise a ten-year-old Andre and things only got better from then." Michonne sighed, going over the good times.

Antoinette watched Michonne before delving in deeper. "Mike also thwacked the shit out of you with a belt because you didn't want to visit his family and then claimed to only be 'joking around'. Know how I remember that? Because of the bruises and welts it left on your body for weeks. Did I mention he let Andre stand outside and freeze in the rain after school for 3 hours because he didn't want to leave the bar he was at to unlock the door for him? And oh yeah, remember when he choked—"

"Okay." Michonne said. "Okay, I get it."

"Mike wasn't a saint, Michonne, none of the Walsh's are." Antoinette reached out and helped Michonne up. "I have some breath mints in my room."

* * *

Alannah dropped the tux on his paper-covered desk. "See what I got you?"

Rick looked up from the crime scene photos at Alannah who wore a frilly black dress, her hair in curly ringlets around her head.

"You look different." He said quickly, and grabbed the suit, missing the disappointed look on Alannah's face as she had expected more of a reaction.

"Uh…yeah. I wanted to show my support for my family. We aren't very close but we share the same last name. I loved Mike." Alannah's hoop earrings shook wildly as she sat down at the edge of his desk. "Do you need a minute to change?"

Rick, shrugging off his leather jacket, shook his head. "Uh, no. I just need to get into the jacket. No disrespect to the dead, but I really want to hurry back and finish looking for more evidence on this case."

"Wha…" Alannah sighed. "Don't bother doing that, Rick. It's a waste of time when we already know who did it."

Rick looked up at her as he pulled the blue jacket she'd bought up his arms. "Who?"

"Michonne."

An almost offended look crossed over his face for a quick minute as he walked past her to the other side of the desk, his back to her. "Yeah…I-I don't think she _did_ do it."

Alannah's eyes widened, eyebrows to her hairline. "Rick…don't tell me you think she's a victim."

He turned to face her, using the water from a plant to slick his hair back behind his ears. "I don't think she's a victim, Lana. I just don't think she did it. There's more to the story. I need to speak to a few people who live on the block, some of her friends, go back to the house. There's much more to do before we close this case."

Alannah sighed heavily. "Why don't you think she did it?"

"Evidence proves otherwise."

"What evidence?"

Rick shrugged. "Denise said that Michonne couldn't have been the one to stab Mike to death."

"You…" she sighed again. "You spoke to Denise without me?"

"You're going through a rough time, Alannah, I know so." He faced her completely. "You haven't tried to watch any those annoying dog videos online for a whole day, and"—he touched the side of her cheek— "you're breaking out."

Alannah reached up to touch her bumpy skin. "It's just stress. I'm allowed to be stressed when my cousin was stabbed to death, and _worse_ —by his own fiancée!"

"Don't do that." He walked past her toward the door to leave. "Don't scream at me. I'm just trying to help."

"I know you are." She said, hurriedly rushing to his side. "And I'm grateful." She watched his sharply attractive profile as they exited the building.

They stepped out into the cool air and walked toward their shared cruiser.

"Even without the evidence…I still wouldn't think she did it." He said as they approached the car and he opened his door.

"Why?" She looked at him over the hood as he ducked into the car, she too.

"I just wouldn't." Rick shrugged and he shoved the keys into the vehicle. "I look at her, watch her, listen to the way she speaks. And don't see a killer, unless it was in self-defense, which isn't such a bad thing. Someone who murdered their fiancé ruthlessly with no remorse and fakes memory loss? That's not Micho—Ms. Tilley."

Alannah watched him closely, wanting to tell him that his thoughts wouldn't matter in a situation like the one they were in now.

"Well, we're two different people." She said instead. "I want evidence."

Rick shook his head at her with a smirk. "All of a sudden."

"What's that supposed to mean?" She asked while he backed the car up.

Rick shrugged, pulling into the road. "I don't know, remember that guy who was accused of killing his wife? Bashed her head in with a hammer? All evidence pointed to him but you believed him without all that, and in the end, we learnt the truth."

"Well—"

"I'm not accusing you, Alannah, I'm just saying." He said, leaving her in a silence to wonder why she wanted it to be Michonne who had murdered Mike so badly.

* * *

The cemetery was small, compact, with little headstones. Michonne saw a group of people and a priest huddled by Mike's. She made her way down the walkway with Antoinette by her side, an umbrella over her head to stop the rain from hitting her.

She stepped into the grass, seeing the Walsh's all wearing black. Mike's brother Ty stood beside his sisters Katrina, Hester and Faith. Michonne tried her best not to glare at the women. Mike's mother and father, Gina and Eastman were hugging under an umbrella together, faces moist.

Michonne's eyes slipped past them to Alannah, who had a much taller Rick by her side. He wore a very cheap dark blue suit, his hair fuzzily curled on his head.

As the priest spoke through the rain, Michonne gave Rick a little wave. His pale eyes went up to meet her gaze. The corner of his mouth twitched into a modest smile.

When she caught Alannah's eyes burning into her, Michonne turned back to the priest and quickly realized that all eyes were on her.

"Ms. Tilley?" The priest stared at her. "Any words?"

Michonne blinked as her eyes went to the coffin. She didn't feel anything in particular as she glanced at it below her. "Uh…Mike was a very…when we were together…" she looked around, desperation in her eyes.

"If there was one thing Mike was, it was supportive." Antoinette jumped in, placing a hand on Michonne's shoulder. "He had his bad moments, but he also had good ones. I, personally, have never and will never find myself praising Mike, but he helped my family in so many ways. I can only be thankful." She nodded.

Michonne looked up at Antoinette, releasing a breath.

* * *

The Repass had a certainly different mood than the funeral. There were no tears. Instead, there were laughs and food and drinks. But Michonne had no intention of sticking around, she badly wanted to leave.

Being around the Walsh's made her feel sick with apprehension.

She stood from her place by the window where she had been watching Alannah Walsh converse with her cousin Katrina and approached the serving table to grab a paper plate, she then scooped up a spoonful of fruit and put it into her plate.

Michonne picked up a strawberry and bit into it as she strolled down by the table, her eyes checking over the food that she had no intention of eating.

"You don't look like you're enjoying yourself." She heard someone behind her, and immediately recognized the voice.

She didn't turn to Rick as she replied. "Who would be? These people are just putting up masks. I know they're all incredibly sad." She picked up a piece of plain bread and bit a chunk off as she continued to walk.

He followed after her. "Believe it or not, there's such thing as smiling while you're sad, Ms. Till—I mean, _Michonne._ " He quickly corrected, offering an embarrassed smile that she saw from the corner of her eye _._ "I think you'd be smiling and reminiscing over the good times with his family if you actually cared about Mike."

She hastily whirled to him, an incredulous look on her face, and bumped into his chest. "It's not…it's not like that." She responded quietly, backing up a bit.

His gaze had dropped to her waist, which was hugged by the tight sheath dress she wore, and he quickly looked toward the food.

Rick reached into the platter and picked up a small block of pineapple, then met her eyes again. "Then what's it like?" He popped the fruit into his mouth and chewed slowly, eying her plate, noticing its void of a certain fruit. "What, do you hate pineapple or something?"

Michonne looked at her plate. "Ugh, no, allergic. It's still good though."

"Mmm." Rick said with an understanding nod, walking past her to the other side of the table, there he found himself with a small brownie. He turned to face her once more as he ate a bit of it. "What's it like, Michonne?"

She sighed. "I came here." She looked around. "I showed my sympathy, showed I am mourning. But…" She threw up her free hand. "It's all a big damn lie. Because in truth, officer, Mike was a complete dick bag."

Rick raised his eyebrows at her choice of insulting words and Michonne found a few eyes on her due to how loud she'd said it.

"Sorry." She winced, and walked in closer with a lowered tone of voice. " _He wasn't a good man."_

Rick finished off his brownie and dusted off his hands together. "Why do you say that?"

"If I told you, I'd just make me look guiltier." She admitted. "Everyone already thinks I did it. Evidence already proves—"

"Wait." He said, leaning toward her, as if he'd suddenly remembered something important. "I don't know how it slipped my mind but…we have to talk about that. About the evidence we found."

She cocked her head to the side. "What do you mean?"

"Well, unless you've somehow remembered something that incriminates yourself from that night…you didn't do it."

Her brown eyes grew wider. "Wha…are you serious? How-how do you know? What did you find?"

"I was at Dr. Cloyd's earlier, and she—"

" _Rick_."

They both turned at the sudden reappearance of Alannah, who looked gorgeous in a loose-fitting gown. Her hand was clamped tautly onto Rick's shoulder, her acrylic nails almost digging into the fabric of his jacket.

Her perfect eyebrows were crinkled angrily. "Can we speak?"

His back turned to Michonne, she heard him say: "Now?"

She nodded. "Yes, Rick, _now_. I'm not gonna wait."

"Wait, um, we didn't…" Michonne's voice was low, almost panicked as she tried to catch their attention. She wanted to know what he'd found.

Rick faced her again and patted her shoulder reassuringly with his right hand, where she took in the fact that a wedding ring was once there, due to the red band left on his finger.

"I'll find you later." He told her.

Michonne nodded, watching him turn and disappear into the kitchen with his partner.

* * *

As soon as the swinging doors of the kitchen slowed to a close, Alannah struck Rick against his shoulder with her purse.

"Hey!" Rick clutched his aching arm. "What the hell was that for?"

"You…" she sighed, and began pacing. "This is Mike's day and you're hanging out with his killer—who shouldn't even be here—conversing like old pals, or old _lovers_." Alannah shook her head at him.

"She didn't do it, Lana." He reminded her. "And I was just about to tell her that before you clawed me off by your nails."

Alannah looked around. "Why aren't you with me, Rick? The only reason I invited you here was to help _me_ get through the evening. I'm _hurting_ , and _she_ 's who you're giving your reassurance to?" She looked like she couldn't believe what was happening, and Rick was surprised when a bead of clear liquid escaped her eye.

Alannah quickly brushed it aside, smearing the glittery eyeshadow and mascara she wore across her eyebrow, but a few more tears were quick to follow.

Rick sighed, sympathy written in the wrinkle at his brow. He looked around the kitchen, till his eyes landed on the box of tissues. He dug inside and pulled on out.

He stepped closer to Alannah and held her chin as he wiped at her tears. "If you'd told me that in the first place, I'd have been with you." He dabbed at the smeared makeup. "You know I lost my other partner, so I know what you're going through." He released her face from his gentle grip and balled the tissue and tossed it into a trash basket then turned back to her. "I'm not going to abandon you, Lana, I'm your friend, you're my partner." Her cheek twitched at the F word. "And I'll always be here. K?"

Alannah shook her head yes. "M'kay."

"But despite what you believe, Michonne deserves to know that she didn't kill Mike." He added as he held open the kitchen door for them both to step out. "And I'm going to tell her."

Alannah opened her mouth to speak but was cut off.

"We held her for probable cause already and that wasn't enough." He said, looking over to the food table and noticing the lack of Michonne's presence, before he turned back to Alannah. "I won't be looking, but if you somehow find the evidence that says Michonne Tilley shoved her fiancé down the stairs, tried to strangle him with a necklace and then stabbed him four times with a missing weapon…? That's when I'll believe you."

Alannah released a breath. "Okay."

"I'm going to look for her." He announced as he began walking toward the dining area.

"Rick." Alannah called once more, making him turn in question. "I'm _going_ to find that evidence. With or without you."

"I know." He said simply.

* * *

She wanted to leave. She'd been thinking that the entire time she was here. But she wanted to speak with Rick—the cop first. She had so many questions.

Michonne had already eaten her bread and fruit and now sat on a bench near the window, her eyes were scanning over the room of people for him.

The sound of laughs silenced in the room just as a group of Walsh's had made their way over, crowding around her. Michonne looked up, noticing the loss of light when their shadows loomed over her.

It was Katrina, Ty, Hester, and Faith. Katrina held a champagne glass with golden liquid inside. Katrina Walsh was so close, Michonne could hear the bad thoughts entering her head—things she wanted to do to Katrina for what she did.

"Enjoying the wine, killer?" It was Faith Walsh who had spoken, a wavering note in her voice.

Michonne reached for her clutch and sat down her drink. "You're all drunk and this is childish." She said, moving to stand up.

But Katrina stepped closer, making it impossible for her to leave. "There's nothing childish about me wanting to beat you black and blue though, is there?"

"Ay, ay, chill." Began Ty Walsh. "Let the moment happen, girls."

"I didn't kill him." Michonne whispered.

"What? What did you say?" Faith leaned closer. "I know you didn't just say what I thought you said."

"I said…I _didn't_ kill him—"

"Shut up, bitch. We all know what was going on between you two that night of the dinner party. The night you killed him." Faith said, taking another gulp of her drink. "We heard you two arguing about Andre. We know y'all left early to settle things back at the house, giving you the perfect opportunity to kill my brother."

Michonne looked up at Faith Walsh with disbelief. "Your reasoning for my involvement is beyond ridiculous." Michonne stood, no longer wanting to sit there and take the abuse of this family. They'd done enough to her.

"What? You mad we know what you did?" Katrina threw her head back with laughter and turned to her family. "She mad, y'all."

"You're saying that because Mike and I were very angry at each other the night of his death, that that means I killed him in cold blood? That what you're saying?" Michonne watched Katrina with careful eyes.

"That's exactly what I'm saying." Katrina stepped closer, wine in hand. "So what, bitch? What are you gonna do?"

Michonne shook her head, scoffing. "You and Mike weren't on the best of terms while he was alive either."

Katrina shrugged. "And?"

"And doesn't that mean _you_ killed him too, right?"

The nonchalant demeanor left Katrina, the humorous smirk fell from her lips as soon as the words had left Michonne's mouth.

Katrina didn't look amused, didn't even look sad anymore, so Michonne should've been prepared herself before Katrina's champagne glass broke against the side of her head, the liquid splashing across her face.

As soon as she was hit with the glass, the restraint she'd had from beating Katrina was gone, she found herself gripping chunks of hair in her hands, pulling as hard as she could. Katrina's hands beat against her own to get her off of her hair.

They both hit the ground, Michonne on her back, Katrina struggling to get Michonne off her. Screams had erupted, people trying to get them off each other, piano music abruptly stopping.

It was chaotic.

* * *

 **keep those reviews coming, guys! gets me more in the mood to post the chapters! see y'all next Tuesday on the 14th.**


	3. Chapter Three of Many

**a/n: i am so apologetic for the minor delay. i said I would upload on the 14th but I didn't. i got so caught up with watching _Until Dawn_ playthroughs on _Youtube -_ i'm obsessed _-_ and forgot to edit this chapter. sorry for that. but hey, at least you get lengthy chapters, right?**

* * *

"Oh no, you don't!" Michonne kicked up, hands still thrust into the bushy mane of Katrina's hair, and rolled over, getting Katrina on her back.

Soon as she did so, a punch landed itself right at the side of her jaw.

"Ow!" It burned, ached, and a metallic taste formed in her mouth.

Katrina clawed her fingers from inside her head, Michonne felt the hair untangling from her hands as she held onto her own jaw, not paying attention to Katrina's siblings rooting on like this was some sort of schoolyard fight or the shocked screams of the other guests.

"You really think I'm going to let you get away with saying some shit like that?!" Shouted Katrina.

Michonne moved aside to miss an elbow she'd have gotten to the face and lunged forward, succeeding in slamming Katrina on her back. "What, like you got away with laying your filthy paws on my son?"

She delivered a blow directly into Katrina's face, her knuckles stinging in result.

Michonne drew her fist back again, enjoying the bliss of having the upper hand, only to have that snatched away by someone's hand closing around her wrist painfully, like needles were pinching through her skin.

"Gah!" Michonne was dragged from Katrina and onto her feet, shivering at the cold metal of handcuffs as they were clasped around her wrists.

Turning her head, she saw that the hands that held onto her arms were female's, the unpleasant needle-like sensation had been due to the glittery nails the female wore and had been digging into her skin.

"Who ever said you weren't capable of violently hurting someone?" Said Alannah, her voice thick with triumph.

"You don't know the full story, Alannah, she—it wasn't—" Michonne was panicked that she was in cuffs again.

"You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you by the state. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

Michonne raised her eyes just as Rick came into view, lifting a roughed-up Katrina onto her feet and cuffing her in front of Michonne.

He watched Michonne as Katrina fought against his hold, she couldn't tell whether he was disappointed or worried, but she didn't have time to decipher the emotions because Alannah tugged her backwards and then toward the doors that led out of the Repass, the sound of Rick reading Katrina her rights slowly faded as they stepped out into the bleakly dark night.

* * *

"So…is that still not enough evidence for you, Rick?" Asked Alannah, looking incredibly cheery, more than she had been earlier on in the night as she stripped from her dress, wearing only a bra and shorts.

They were in the small area in the station where there were bunks and extra changes in attire.

Rick slid his jacket off. "What is?"

"That she broke Katrina's nose and dislocated the woman's shoulder." Alannah shrugged as she removed her earrings, secretly eying his bare chest. "Is that still not enough evidence to prove that she could have violently ended someone's life?"

Rick turned and faced Alannah, shaking his head at her, his dark gray shirt dangling from his fingers. "Could you please dial down your excitement to put a single mother behind bars? She's been through a lot; she doesn't need this from you right now."

Alannah raised her brows, stepping into her dark pants and pulled it up her legs. "If you are actually affected by this, then you are so much more foolish than I thought you were." She zipped her pants and moved for her blue shirt.

"How?" Rick turned to face her, no amusement or playfulness coming from him. "Because I'm the one who is actually doing my job while you're off trying to search for nonexistent evidence because of what? Why do you want Michonne to be the one that killed your cousin so much, Alannah?"

Alannah pulled her top over her head and looked back at Rick. "It's not so much as _wanting_ , Rick, it's more of _knowing_. I've never really liked her because I knew there was something about her I couldn't shake and maybe this is it."

He watched her as she buttoned her own shirt. "You always say you need evidence, yet somehow you don't need it anymore."

Alannah opened her mouth. "I-"

"Like me, you have a feel for things like this. But our feelings are the complete opposite of each other's on this one." He said.

"What are you saying?"

Rick pulled his shirt up his arms and then began buttoning it down. Shrugging. "Just that—do you think that really makes us the best duo to be working on a case together?"

Alannah's face fell. "Rick…do you…not want me to be your partner anymore? Is that what you're saying?"

"No. It's not that at all. I just feel like we argue a lot more now." Rick opened up the door. "Maybe you should drop out of the case, maybe it's too close to home."

Alannah hadn't moved. "What? Are you serious, Rick?"

"Alannah. I've never seen you like this. So angry and desperate." He said, holding the door open. "Just take a break." He said before leaving.

* * *

Michonne looked up from her thoughts as the door to the interrogation clicked open and in came Rick. Dark-haired, blue eyed and in a seemingly irate silence, he carried a first aid kit, his blue jacket missing and white shirt replaced by a moody gray one.

He shut the door behind himself and approached the table she sat at.

"Are you mad?" She asked reluctantly, not really wanting an answer as she looked up at him.

"'Course not." Said Rick, not looking at her as he took a seat across from Michonne, set the kit down, and folded his arms over his chest, then met her gaze. "You merely attacked your dead fiancé's sister at his Repass, why _would_ I be mad?"

Michonne folded her own arms, expecting his anger, and rolled her eyes. "It wasn't like that."

Pressing his lips together, Rick shrugged. "Then what was it like?"

The words being used mirrored the conversation they'd had at the serving table, she noticed as she dropped her arms from her chest. "She made the first move and I naturally defended myself."

"By breaking her nose?"

Michonne nodded. "Yes."

"And dislocating her shoulder?"

" _Mmm hmm_. Could have been anyone, but I was not going to get attacked and just take it." She told him straight-forward.

"You see; I happen to think differently. I don't think you _would_ just attack anyone else." He had uncrossed his arms and was making gestures with his hands. "I think it was Katrina in particular."

Michonne smirked. "What brings you to that conclusion?"

"You told me that Mike wasn't a good person. A "dick bag" to put into your own words."

Michonne chuckled, looking away from him. "I should have never told you that."

"And then you proceed to get into a brawl with his closest sister. I'm not going to _sit_ here and pretend I don't see the connection."

"Well, you could _stand_ and-"

"What do you have against the Walsh's? Mike's a " _dick bag"_ but what about the rest of them? Take Katrina, for example, why do you hate Katrina?"

She stared him dead in his eyes. "That's none of your business."

"Well, I want to make it mine." He replied quickly, leaning against the table.

"It is in _no way_ relevant to the case at hand, so I don't see why—"

" _Michonne_."

Rick had scooted out of his chair and approached the side of the table, sitting at the edge and staring down at her.

She flicked her eyes upward, gazing at him with wide eyes. "She-" Michonne put a frustrated hand to her forehead, staring into the darkness of her palm as she wondered whether she should tell him, and why she was reluctant to.

Her thoughts had stopped when she felt his much bigger hand grab onto hers, giving her a view back. His eyes were set on her knuckles, where she noticed the peeling and bloodied skin there.

She hadn't noticed that before.

"Dr. Heath didn't bandage these? Why?" His thumb lightly brushed across the lacerations in her hands.

"He probably never saw them. I didn't."

"Hmm."

Rick reached for the aid kit and unlocked it. There she saw him take out a couple of Band-Aids, which he sat on the table and took one. He carefully unwrapped it, releasing it onto her index finger and closing it in place.

As he proceeded to bandage her middle finger, she watched him. His eyebrows were scrunched in determination, his eyes intensely blue.

"Why'd you attack Katrina Walsh?" He'd asked without looking up, but she knew he'd noticed her staring somehow.

Michonne broke the eye contact and busied her gaze on her fingers as they were being dressed. "She broke a champagne glass against my head."

"C'mon, we both know that's only part of it." He began biting his bottom lip as he was done working on her hands and released them from his grip. He then touched the bandage on the side of her head where the glass had cut into. "Does this hurt?"

"Yes. It's only been bandaged a few hours." When she felt a traveling sting that seemed to affect the entire wound beneath the dressing, she reached up to ease the pain by pressing on it softly, but only found her hand on top of Rick's.

Her nervousness died down immediately.

"You were married." She stated curiously as her little finger traced the indentations of his ring finger where jewelry once was. His eyes seemed to get glassier and bluer as she spoke. "You've worn your ring recently, but…it's never there when I see you. Any particular reason?"

"That's none of your business." He said, but made no move to remove his hand from beneath hers on her head.

"Well, I want to make it mine."

The side of his mouth twitched up in amusement, and then his face straightened, his shoulders relaxing and he had opened his mouth to respond.

Moment over.

The door had opened, Rick's hand dropped from her head, and red-haired, big-breasted Alannah came inside. Her shirt halfway unbuttoned at her chest and in her hand she carried a yellow folder. Her hair was not curled as it had been the night before, now it was braided loosely and was hung over her shoulder.

She looked extremely attractive, Michonne thought, and it just made her wonder why Rick wasn't practically drooling over her.

"Alannah." Rick didn't sound surprised.

She sat the folder down on the table. "I'm not dropping the case, Rick."

"I didn't think you would." He told her.

Michonne watched Rick stand and move away from the table.

"You've never been one to look after yourself." His voice was low when he'd said it. "I'm not _that_ surprised that you're still here."

"Question is, why are you?" Asked Alannah, watching Rick.

Michonne, who the two cops seemed to completely forget was still in the room, watched the both of them.

"Hasn't she called yet?" Alannah questioned Rick.

"Who?"

"Lori."

"No. No she hasn't." Rick replied.

" _You_ need to start looking after _yourself_ ," Alannah said, opening the door to the interrogation room and holding it open. "Call her. Tell her what you want to do. Stop thinking about work. Think about you."

Rick stood there, as if contemplating what Alannah had said.

Michonne had no idea what they were talking about and felt out of place. She shivered.

"Go on, Rick. Get some tea. You haven't been to sleep for a whole 24 hours and then some. Relax." She inclined her head toward the door. "Go."

He nodded and headed to the door, stopping only to tap Alannah on the shoulder before leaving. Alannah shut the door behind him and sighed. Eyes immediately going to Michonne.

She approached the table in a silence, and tapped her nails against the cold metal.

Michonne irritably listened to the sound for two minutes before she released a sigh. "I've told Rick everything that happened. Can I go? I just…I just want to see my son."

Alannah stopped with her tapping, raising one of her sharp eyebrows. "How _is_ Andre doing these days?"

Michonne shrugged. "I haven't seen him in a few. He's with his father."

Alannah smirked softly. "Last time I checked, Mike is in the ground, thanks to you."

"Last time _I_ checked, Mike wasn't Andre's father." Michonne shot back and then relaxed. "He's with Siddiq."

"The bio-dad?"

"Yes."

Alannah raised both eyebrows, she seemed to convey most of her emotions there at the tip of her shaped and nearly perfect brows. "Isn't he the bartender? The one with the drinking problem? What kind of mother are you to leave him with-?"

"That was _twelve years ago_. Siddiq works at a toy shop now. He's nine years sober, hasn't had a drink since Andre was in diapers." Michonne said. "Not that that's any of your business, the current condition of my ex and well-being of my son does not concern you any longer." She waited a moment to add: "My ties with the Walsh's died along with your cousin."

Alannah made a face, but quickly hid the fact that she had been affected by Michonne's last statement and began pacing.

"I like kids." She said, out of the blue. "I liked Andre."

"Yeah?" Michonne shook her head. "Well, so did your adult cousin Katrina. Maybe a little too much considering I caught her leaving his bedroom at _two_ in the morning during the last sleepover Andre and I had at the Walsh residence."

Alannah stopped walking a turned to Michonne. "Excuse me?"

"You can mark that down as the night I grabbed our overnight bags and flew the coop." Michonne took a breath, as she sat up in her chair. "You can also mark it down as the night I promised to _never_ bring him back to that house _ever_ again."

"Are you accusing Katrina of something?" Alannah chuckled, unamused. "Are you _deliberately_ trying to make yourself look guiltier?"

Michonne crossed her arms over her chest. "I don't know, you tell me. Could Katrina be _that_ disgusting?"

"Katrina adores children. Always has."

"So I've seen." Michonne watched Alannah, a disgusted note in her voice. "You know, Katrina used to beg to have Andre over _all the time_. I never thought anything of it. Well…until that night."

"If you're so confident in saying that my cousin did a thing like that, why haven't you come down to the station? Tried to get her arrested? Or at least told Rick. You two seem pretty close enough in the four days that you've known each other."

Michonne raised her eyebrows at the last jab Alannah made at her. "Are you insinuating what I think you're insinuating?"

"That you're batting your pretty brown eyes and tightening your wardrobe just to sleep your way out of bad prison food? That's exactly what I was insinuating. Dark hair, dark eyes, and a sense of humor? You're even his type."

Michonne blinked unbelievingly at the cop that stood before her. In no way did she ever think an officer of the law could behave so much like this.

She chose to ignore the statement.

"I did come down to the station. Only it got me a brutally honest officer that told me I needed more evidence. That the _anger_ and _disgust_ in my eyes as I told him was not enough to get that woman investigated."

"He was right. You can't just come down here with teary eyes and anger. Evidence matters." Alannah said.

"Not to you, of course. You're still confident in believing that I killed my fiancé despite some new show of evidence. But…that's no surprise to myself. You've never liked me and I've never known why."

Alannah nodded slowly before pointing to the folder she had dropped on the table. "That's all the information I have on the case of you and Katrina's brawl at the Repass. Look over it. Court schedules, Katrina's statement, things like that. It's essential that you study those papers before you enter a courtroom."

"She's pressing charges?" Michonne asked out loud as she reached for the folder.

Alannah shrugged. "What can I say? I told her about it...and-"

"You mean, you _convinced_ her it was her best bet in order to come out of this with something other than her own embarrassment?" Michonne watched Alannah with aversion, shaking her head as she opened the folder. "Why do you hate me so much?"

Alannah went to the door and turned to Michonne. "It's a battle of the wills, Michonne. Rick's feelings can't help you in any way."—and left.

* * *

Alannah's purple mug of steaming tea sat in front of him, she'd always let him borrow the cup after he had accidentally dropped his and it was crushed into small pieces. It sat on his desk beside a pile of papers, and sitting on top of those papers was his cell phone.

Rick sighed and reached for it, immediately dialing in a phone number and then sat there wondering whether he should call it.

His finger slipped and pressed 'Call' and he made no move to end the it.

It instantly picked up, Rick put the phone to his ear.

A sigh. "…Rick?"

It was Lori, her voice was subdued. He could pick up the faint beeping in the background.

"Hey. How are things?"

She sighed again. "Carl is doing well. His condition hasn't worsened since you left, so that's keeping us hopeful." He could hear the spinning chair creak because he remembered sitting in that exact place beside that bed with a heavy heart and no hope. "The doctors are in the balance, anything could happen. He could get worse; he could get better…there's really no telling."

"That's...not so bad." Rick replied, leaning against the desk, relief in his heart.

"He wants to see you." Lori said.

"No he doesn't." Rick shot back quickly. "He made that perfectly clear the last time I was in Macon."

"Rick, he's _so_ insecure. He's in a state that I cannot help him in…but you can. Come to Macon, come to the medical center. _Come see your son, Rick_." The last words were hushed.

"He hasn't changed his mind then." Rick sighed deeply. "He still hates my guts."

He heard a door shut. "So he hasn't changed his mind, so what? You are his father, and as his father you have responsibilities. I know you're an expert at giving people space, Rick, you…"—she chuckled softly over the sound of chatter in the area she was in— "you gave me a great deal of it."

" _Lori._ " He said before she could continue but it didn't stop her from speaking.

"In-in truth, it's not just Carl." Lori said. "I miss you too. But I know you have a whole life in Atlanta, what with your job and the French chef. What's her name?"

"Genevieve. And we're not…that isn't something that's happening anymore." He informed her.

"Why? What happened? Are you okay?"

He sighed, frustratingly knotting his hands into his hair. "It was a thing that, uh, started to fast and ended just as quickly. I'm fine."

"Oh."

"And about my job…I have a case that I'm working on and I am very _passionate_ about winning it."

He heard a smirk. "Passionate? Didn't you tell me you didn't care for your job anymore? That you're only there to support us and yourself?"

"I said that, but this case…I'm not nonchalant about it."

"Rick?"

He looked away from the phone, taking in the appearance of Michonne, surprised that despite the recent wounds and bandages she managed to look easy on the eyes. She was still wearing her black dress from the funeral, except her hair had escaped its floral clip and now spilled down her back and over her shoulders.

He raised his eyebrows at her, holding his phone a few inches away from his face.

"I can go, but I don't have a ride." She told him, hoping he'd see the unspoken question in her eyes.

He nodded once. "Just give me a minute. I'll be out in a minute."

Michonne smiled lightly and moved, walking around his desk towards the doors. Rick's eyes followed after her as she pushed out through the double doors and blurred due to distance.

He took a breath.

"Rick, you there? Who was that?" Asked Lori, then he remembered he had been speaking to her.

"I'll think about coming to Macon but I'm not making any promises."

"That's good enough."

"I have to go."

* * *

A dark sky was above them, with sparkling stars peppering across it. Michonne pulled her head from the window and yawned to herself before turning to Rick. He was completely focused on the road.

"Are you okay, officer?" She asked tiredly.

"Yeah. Why?"

"You're just quiet is all." Michonne stretched her arms and turned back to the window.

The car turned a corner, she could see the tip of Antoinette's house from where they were. "It's just me. This…this is me. I'm always quiet." He assured her.

"Figures. You're a cop after all."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" He asked, taking offense.

Michonne shrugged. "You're sullen, you rarely ever smile, and you look depressed. It's just how an officer is after experiencing the things they have."

"Correct me if I'm wrong but…you're not an officer, right? So how would you even begin to know how I'd be after seeing the things I've seen?"

"Believe it or not, my Dad _was_. And you mirror exactly what he looked like after a long day of work. He even told me that's it's draining and leaves you down in the doldrums."

"Well…" he sighed, relaxing his shoulders. "He's not wrong. Guess that's why I'm not very talkative." He confessed.

"You're talkative to me." She said out loud.

Rick opened his mouth to protest, but realized all that he'd just admitted to her and closed it.

"You want to know what I believe?" She asked.

"What?"

"I think I bring you out of your blue cave, that shell you are supposedly in." She joked. "I mean…based on evidence—which I have an assload of due to the amount of conversations we've had since we met, in which you've been completely chatty and talkative. I think I'm just the thing you need in your life."

Rick smirked. "Oh yeah?"

"Nah, I'm just—" she chuckled to herself, and then yawned, knowing she was suffering from lack of sleep—"I'm just pulling your leg."

"You seemed pretty sure."

"Don't take it at face value. I barely know you. Besides, you're a cop."

"And?"

"And…nothing. I don't—I don't like to socialize with cops."

"I'm still a normal person, you know."

"Yeah, I know. But I'm not going to sit here and pretend that you being what you are doesn't make me a bit nervous." She said.

Rick watched her for a moment.

"Eyes on the road, 'normal person'." She said, sighing and shutting her eyes.

But her peace was interrupted by her cell phone dinging. She'd forgotten she'd had it. A paragraph of a text was there; it was from Antoinette.

 **(Antoinette -** ** _Andre's not here even after I texted his father. I think Siddiq doesn't want to bring him home because of the investigation, because he thinks you're guilty. Come home and I'll drive you up there. He doesn't have the right to make rules with your son after he abandoned the two of you to keep his job. I don't care how much DNA he shares with Andre.)_**

Michonne sighed, it was what she had been dreading and her mood was instantly ruined. She was hoping to go home to Andre in bed and safe, but it looked like things weren't going that way now.

She quickly punched in a reply, not caring how doubtful she was.

 **(Michonne – Don't worry about it. I'm not coming back home. I'll text u later.)**

"Rick?" She turned to him.

He looked over to her. "Yeah?"

"If I ask something of you that might as well be _really_ crazy and you're probably not going to say yes to…will you promise to just think about it?"

"Depends on what it is."

She sighed. "Can you drive me into Macon? It's just an hour away and I have a specific address for you too."

"Did you just say Macon?"

* * *

She felt a nudging at her arm and her eyes were instantly opened. Michonne gasped awake, looking around as if she were lost, though the nightmare she was sure she had was no longer a clear image in her head.

"We're here." Said Rick, who had been the one to shake her.

Michonne scratched the back of her neck. "Macon?"

"Yeah. You fell asleep 10 minutes into the trip. Didn't want to wake you until we got here." He told her.

"It's fine. It was…good sleep." She lied.

She turned to face the window where a building stood. It was huge, and the sign read: _SIDDIQ ANTHONY'S TOYS & GIFTS._

"I always get lost trying to come here." She admitted, unbuckling her seatbelt, impressed. "What a show off you are."

"Well…" Rick followed suit and clicked open his seatbelt. "I'd be lying if I said I hadn't ended up at a gentleman's club, a food market and a dead end at some point."

Michonne grinned and opened the door, dropping down into the grass before closing it.

She heard Rick slam his door and he circled the car to meet her on the other side.

"You said this is like a hotel?" Rick asked as she headed forward up the ramp, he followed after her.

"It's not official or anything but I guess you could say so." Michonne said, angling her head over her shoulder to look at him. Sleep circles were perceivable. "He has a few rooms above the actually shopping area for people in need of a room for the night. I stayed when I brought Andre up here. It's cozy."

Michonne reached the door and knocked on the glass. It was dark inside the shop, but it was to be expected since he closed at around 9 PM.

She turned around to face Rick. "You know…I can hitch a ride with someone else. Siddiq can even drive me home if you have to get back to the station."

"I don't."

Michonne raised her brows. "You're staying with me?"

"I'm staying _here_ ," he indicated the shop. "Where you happen to be, if I can. I just needed a place to stay while I go take care of some business in this city." Rick said.

She turned at the sound of the shop opening.

The man who'd opened it stepped back to let them in. Rick and Michonne entered the dark shop and heard the door shut behind the man.

The light switched on and she took in the shelves of toys, things he'd collected over the years.

"Michonne?" Siddiq was wearing a lazy COCA COLA shirt and baggy pajama pants. "Shit. I must not have gotten your text telling me you were coming."

Siddiq was a good-looking man with a perfectly shaped beard and beady green eyes, his hair was overly thick and dark and a single curl bounced down his face.

"That's because I didn't send one." Michonne said, feeling dirty in the dress she wore. She'd been wearing it since the funeral and Repass and still dry wine was in it. "Where's Andre?"

"Upstairs, room 3." He said.

"I was wondering," Began Rick, stepping toward Siddiq and giving him a handshake. "Any way for me to get a room?"

"Yeah." Siddiq noticed Rick's uniform and gun belt. "No charge."

"Thanks." Rick said, as if he were surprised.

* * *

Michonne emerged from the bathroom, rubbing a towel at her wet face. A long towel was wrapped around her body. The room she was in was incredibly comfortable, with lamps and a bed, and space.

Andre was perched on the bed, a bleeping iPad in his hands as he played a game.

"Aren't you going to get some sleep?" She asked as she approached the bed and threw herself on it, grabbing for her phone.

Andre shook his head, not answering. "I don't have school." He informed her.

"I know," she said, running her hands through the curls in his head while checking through her emails. "But you should still get some sleep."

"Later." He said over his shoulder.

Michonne nodded and sent a text to Antoinette.

 **(Michonne – I'm in Macon. I'll tell you when I'm on my way back home.)**

After, she set her phone down and turned to her son.

"Did Siddiq tell you anything?" She asked seriously. "About Mike?"

Andre didn't look at her, but his tone was fairly nonchalant despite the seriousness of the subject. "He told me Mike was dead."

"Did he tell you who hurt Mike?" She said, hoping for the best.

"He said the police are still trying to find out."

Michonne sighed in relief. "I'm going to get some coffee. Stay in this room. I'll have Siddiq check in on you." She sat up and kissed the side of Andre's head. "I love you."

"Love you too, Mom."

She slid out of the bed and went to the pile of clothes Siddiq had left for her. They were new clothes he'd left inside each room for his guests.

She went into the closet to change into the red sweater and denim skirt which fit well even though they were a bit tight.

* * *

The housing floor was dark and what made it even creepier was the fact that she didn't know who else was staying here with them.

Michonne clutched at her purse as she made her way down it, the floorboards creaking, her skirt flapping against her legs.

She flicked on the corridor's light and approached room 7, she knocked at it once.

"Come in!" She heard a husky voice shout from inside.

Michonne twisted the doorknob and was now in another room. It was much like hers but a lot colder. The lamp was on, the windows open, the bed made.

Rick stood by the dresser wearing a black shirt and jeans, he had just finished up putting his belt on and grabbed his keys.

"You're leaving?" She asked, shutting the door and fully entered.

Rick turned to her. "I thought I told you I had business to attend to in the city?"

"Oh yeah, you did." Michonne sighed. "I was just going to invite you to get some coffee with me."

Rick scratched at his hair, which was wet from a recent wash. "Do you know any coffee places around here?"

"Yeah, there's this one called Beaker, it's around the corner. But…you've got business and I can walk by myself. It's not far."

"You're not walking." He watched her as he moved closer to the door and opened it for the two to leave. "And I'll go with you. But this business, I'll have to do first, alright?"

"Alright." She walked out with Rick behind her.

* * *

They pulled up at the GN Hospital.

Michonne squinted through her window. "Why are we here?"

Rick turned the engine off and unbuckled his seat belt. "You'll see."

The rain had stopped, Michonne noticed as she exited the vehicle and they both made their way up the ramp. Rick opened one of the hospital doors and entered the building.

She hated hospitals. But weirdly also found comfort in being in one. Despite wearing a sweater, Michonne shivered and followed Rick to the front desk.

He exchanged some words with the receptionist.

A silent elevator ride and two yawns later, Michonne found her way walking down a long corridor with Rick at her side.

"Room…304." He found it, looking back at Michonne.

"Who's here?" She asked in a loud whisper.

He reached for the handle and pushed the door open.

He hadn't even taken four steps into the room when a tall white woman with sleek dark hair had thrown herself at him, wrapping her arms around him completely.

"Rick! Oh god!" Her voice sounded incredibly relieved.

Michonne shut the door as she witnessed the scene, feeling awkward.

The woman pulled away. "You came." Her eyes slipped past him to Michonne, who was holding onto her purse for dear life. She didn't know why she felt so uncomfortable. "Hi."

Michonne inclined her head toward the woman. "Hello." She waved.

"Uh, Michonne, this is Lori." He pointed to her, fingers once again free of any adorning wedding rings. Why she felt relief she didn't know. "Lori, this is Michonne."

Lori had a look in her eyes as she stared at her that Michonne couldn't read.

Michonne looked past Lori when she noticed the figure lying in the hospital bed. He was a young boy, pale skin that bore red and purple marks. The boy was completely shaven at the head, smoothly hairless.

"Hello." She said, walking past Lori to approach the kid who'd been reading a comic, his head back on the pillow.

"Hi."

She had a soft spot for children, so seeing one in a hospital bed pained her heart. "I'm Michonne."

"Carl." He told her, looking over to Rick. "Are you his new partner?"

"No. I'm just…Michonne." She chuckled a bit, Rick too. "It's nice to meet you."

Rick moved to the bed on the other side and Michonne watched him, noticing how his blue eyes had dulled a bit. "This is my son."

* * *

 **Thoughts? Suggestions? Criticisms? Predictions? Please leave a review. Hopefully I'll stay true to my word next week and _actually_ upload on Tues, sorry about that again. _(Note, Alannah didn't pay off Katrina, she wouldn't have to do that since Katrina's her cousin and they were close/sorry for confusion, I had to change the wording there.)_**


	4. Chapter Four of Many

**a/n: well, I was on time this week. the only thing I have to apologize for is the length. it's not as long as the last two chaps but I wrote all that needed to be written for this chapter and it only amounted to this. So...yeah. I ain't wanna just add words to make it longer. it's longer than the first chap tho. have fun.**

* * *

She mixed the cream into the coffee with her plastic spoon, the look on her face sullen.

"That's the fourth time you've stirred that without drinking it." Said Rick as he sipped his coffee, watching Michonne make another round with her spoon. "Weren't you the one who invited _me_ to get some?"

Michonne looked over to him and dropped her spoon into her mug. "I wanted it but…after the hospital and—seeing your son. I'm just not in the mood."

"I understand." Rick downed the rest of his decaf. "I barely ate for weeks when we first got him treatment. Couldn't find it in me."

Michonne gazed at him as he went over those events, his eyes as readable as a book. "If you don't mind me asking…how did you find out he was sick?"

Rick shrugged, thumbing around an empty sugar packet on the counter. "He used to not be able to breathe sometimes, have pains in his throat. Never in a million years did I think that it would turn into this hell."

"What does he have?"

He sighed. "Thyroid cancer."

"That really sucks balls, Rick. I'm sorry." Michonne said sincerely, before looking up to meet Rick's widened gaze.

"Out of every sympathetic being that has been around me, I've never heard anyone use that specific sentence for words of comfort, you know that?" Rick chuckled and turned back to his empty mug, an amused, content smile on his face.

"Well, not every being around you might've murdered their fiancé." She said, unintentionally killing the moment as she dug into her pocket to pull out of her phone.

 **(Antoinette: Have they found anything yet on the case? I hope you're able to tell me.)**

Michonne read the text and set her phone on the table. "That's what I've been wanting to ask you, Rick, about the evidence you told me Dr. Cloyd found that rules me out as a suspect. What is it that you've found?"

Rick turned fully to face her. "Well…your clothes and jewelry had none of Mike's blood on them. And Mike was soaked in it, almost drowning in it. If you had murdered Mike as violently as the crime scene and autopsy specify…you'd have at least a sprinkle of it on you."

Michonne's shoulders sagged. "But…I could have easily changed out of my clothes. That's all you found?"

She stood up, dispirited, and began pacing the coffee shop. It was completely empty of anyone except the girl who sat behind the counter reading a gossip magazine while smacking gum, headphones in.

Rick stood after her. "That was my first thought after Denise told me. But yesterday, I spoke with Katrina after your fight and asked her if she'd seen you the night of Mike's death. She had. At some dinner party you attended at his house. And there, she told me, you wore the same clothes we found you in. It's enough. And until we find that murder weapon with your fingerprints on it, you're innocent."

She couldn't find as much comfort from those words. All she heard was "you probably didn't do it" and it really didn't feel good. "But who would do it? I keep trying to think that maybe we had intruders or some shit but it sounds just as ridiculous as Jodi Arias's story was."

"Michonne, you're not Jodi Arias."

"What if I really did it, Rick? I got my hopes up and I was confident for a short while—which felt incredibly good, may I add—but what if I really killed Mike?"

"I think—" but in that moment his cell phone had begun ringing.

* * *

He went back to the stool and picked it up. "Hello?"

"Rick…" It was Alannah, her voice was weak and she was crying. "I don't feel so good."

"Hey." Rick sat down with concerned furrowed eyebrows. "Are you sick? What did you eat?"

"No. I'm fine, I'm not sick." He heard a sniffle, her muffled voice continued to speak. "I just keep thinking about Mike and how he's gone and the tears just keep coming…I need my support system. Can you come over? Where are you exactly?"

"I'm not in Atlanta right now, Alannah."

There was a pause.

"Where are you then?" she repeated.

"Macon." He said, and waited a second to add: "With Michonne."

"Oh…her again?" Alannah sighed. "Well, I just hope you haven't forgotten the Captain's rules. You know, the first rule we were ever told. Have you?"

Rick turned to look at Michonne. She was yawning, her eyes glassy and sleepy. Her finger scrolled through her phone and she had the calmest expression on her face even though she was probably going through hell.

 _Wow_ , Rick thought, admiration in his eyes.

"Rick?" Alannah called.

"Of course not, Alannah." He looked away from Michonne. "That's not even something that's entered my mind."

"So, you haven't even considered it at all?" Alannah's voice seemed to trail, the weakness slowly leaving it.

"No."

"Not even once?"

"Nope."

"Not even while you _'looked at her, watched her, and listened to the way she speaks'_?" She quoted him and he heard a smile in her voice.

"Alannah."

"Okay, I'll stop." Alannah yawned, and sipped something. "God, I miss Mike."

"I don't mean to be impolite, but…I thought you two weren't the closest cousins. Or is that just something I pulled out of my ass?" He asked.

She was silent for a simple second. "He's still family, Rick. Are you really sitting there with the accused, trying to tell me how I should mourn, how close I should've been with Mike to be able to be sad about it?"

He listened to the sadness creep into her tone again. "No. Alannah. It's nothing like that."

"Good. Be careful up there, okay? On those roads."

"Are you actually worried about us, Alannah Walsh, even Michonne?"

"Shut up, Rick, of course I worry about you." She took a breath. "And yes, even I don't want her to be roadkill. Goodnight, Richard."

"Night, 'Lannah."

Rick hung up and stuffed his phone into his pocket then looked to the woman at his side.

"You ready to go, Michonne?"

"Of course." She dropped down from her stool.

* * *

"She hit you first?"

"Yes. Swung at me, broke my nose."

"Then why was your champagne glass broken?"

"It fell from the bench while we fought, shattered upon impact."

"So, where did the gash in Michonne's head come from?"

"While we fought, we rolled around a lot." Katrina set back into her seat, a bandage over her nose and a black support strap on her shoulder to treat the aftermath of the dislocation, "it must have crunched against the side of her head, broke the skin there."

"So, what you're saying is that she attacked you and you defended yourself?" Alannah asked, scribbling the words into the report with a black-ink pen.

"Yes. That's exactly what I'm saying." Katrina nodded.

"And if I go into the other room and speak with the rest of your family, the ones who were present during the attack, they'll tell me the same exact thing, right?" Alannah continued writing.

"Word for word."

Alannah got the last few words written and stood from her seat. "You do know the consequences if you're lying, right? No matter who you are to me, if you are lying, I'll have cuffs on you. Do you understand?"

"I understand, and I am _not_ lying." Katrina swiped her tongue over her split lip. "I wouldn't lie about something like this."

Alannah approached her cousin and patted her shoulder. "Are you in pain?"

"Yeah." Katrina took a breath. "It hurts everywhere."

"I'll get you some painkillers. Stay put." Alannah went for the door.

* * *

"Rick, why are you here?" Was the exact thing Carl asked as soon as Rick had entered the hospital room after having dropped Michonne off at their temporary B&B.

"Rick?" Rick shut the door and fully entered the room. "That's what you've resorted to calling me now? What's wrong with 'Dad'?"

"' _Dad_ ' is reserved for an actual— well, you know—Dad." Said Carl. He sat at the window seat, a blue scarf wrapped around his head, a brown cowboy hat atop it, a tag hanging from the lid. His knees were pulled up to his chin as he stared out the window. "The kind that doesn't move to another city while you're sick, the kind who actually fights for his marriage. The kind that doesn't give up on you. The kind that doesn't think you're gonna _die_. I don't wanna call you Dad until I find you acting like one."

"Carl…" Rick couldn't find more words as he moved to the window.

"You visited _four_ times during chemo." Carl shook his head. "Mom was there _whenever_ she could."

"There really is no excuse for that, Carl." Rick admitted, leaning against the wall as he watched his son hug his knees. "If you're looking for an argument, you're not going to find it. I won't argue with you, son, I'm in the wrong here."

"You are." Carl reached up and rubbed at his eye. "But I'm not going to keep holding my grudge for you any longer."

"Huh?" Rick—surprised and caught off guard—looked away from the patterned wallpaper to his son.

Carl sighed, his long lashes flapping over his big blue eyes. "I don't hate you. I just haven't forgiven you yet."

Rick nodded, not wanting to ruin the moment with his words.

"But I want to." Carl finished. "It's going to take some time since you're leaving in a few hours, but…whenever I visit you after I get cleared to or you come back—I want to work on that forgiving."

"That sounds perfect." Rick replied with a small smile.

* * *

"You all comfy?" Michonne asked as she clipped in the seatbelt.

"Yeah." Andre nodded, but his attention was drawn to his iPad and not the handful of toys that sat on the ground of Rick's car. " _Die, Motora, die!"_ He yelled with concentration, profusely pressing at his screen.

Michonne shook her head with a smirk and shut his door. She went to the passenger's seat and slid in, buckled her seatbelt and shut her own door.

"I think I might have had the best sleep to date in that place." Michonne told him.

Rick twisted the key in the ignition and started the car. "Well, I don't think I got _any_. But thankfully I have a few more days off of work and I can get on that sleeping thing." He pulled out of the parking area and onto the road.

"Good luck with sleeping, I think I'm just going to do a little investigating of my own." Michonne said, she was scrolling through her phone.

"What do you mean?" Rick asked.

Michonne shrugged. "Find out who murdered my fiancé." When she got a weird look from him, she added: " _Legally_. Whether it was me or someone else, I want to find out."

They passed a food market.

"Okay, so, I'll help." Rick said.

Michonne looked to Rick. "Aren't you investigating the case already?"

"Yeah. But I'll still help you, Michonne. Tell you what I can."

"But I thought you were going to work on that 'sleeping thing'?" She looked at the light sky.

"Well," Rick turned a corner. "I distinctly remember there being 24 hours in a day. I got time."

She sat there for a second before looking to him. "Thank you, Rick. Kind of thought you'd shut me down."

"You deserve to know the truth. It's only the right thing to do." He said without looking at her.

Michonne nodded.

* * *

"Antoinette!"

"It's Michonne, Antoinette! We're back! It's sooo cold out here, open up!"

"Aunt Antoinette!" It was Andre's voice. "We're freezing like icicles. Can you open up the door?"

Antoinette released a breath, her heart thumping as she gathered up the bloody clothes, her bloody purse and stuffed that all into the black trash bag.

"I'm-I'm coming! I just-"

She knew the moment she'd decide to get rid of these things, something would come into play.

She hurriedly tied the bag and threw it back under the kitchen's sink in the cabinet.

But there was more. The knife still slicked with blood was on the floor and her wallet that she had gotten blood on by accident.

She grabbed those and put them into the utensil drawer.

Antoinette hurried to the front door and unlocked it.

Michonne and Andre were standing there, Michonne's hair tied in a bun and under a white hat. Andre wore a blue coat, a smile stretched across his face. Snow blanketed the atmosphere and they carried handfuls of toys.

"Michonne, Andre, you're back." She breathed.

"And we're icicles." Said Andre, pushing past her into the house.

Michonne kissed the side of Antoinette's cheek as she entered after Andre. "Feels so good to be home. And I'm incredibly glad Siddiq didn't put up a fight. The way I read your text sure made it look like he would."

"Yeah, I-I'm sorry for the assumptions. I just noticed he was late to bring Andre home, is all."

"It's okay." Michonne dropped the toys beside the shoe rack, still carrying a blue plastic bag and she still wore the shoes from the funeral but her attire was different. "I got your dress in this bag, I didn't want to leave it at Siddiq's but…I kind of never want to see it again." Michonne laughed as she removed her shoes.

"Um…yeah, _that_." Antoinette laughed weakly, though she really hadn't heard a word Michonne had said.

"Right now, I just need to take a bath and …get started on finding out who in the world murdered my fiancé." Michonne sighed, her tone taking a dark edge. "If it wasn't me who…hurt him, who do you think would? Cause I can't think of any person that'd want to hurt Mike."

"I'm sure we should leave all the guessing and investigating to the cops, Michonne. We have enough going on for us right now. You're in all the tabloids and those reporters keep trying to find this address. Where you live. It's not good to be doing all this."

Michonne shrugged. "You weren't covered in your own blood, Antoinette. You didn't sit a few steps up from your dead fiancé. I can't just let this go, I need to find out who did this."

Antoinette nodded. "Y-you're right. I'll just go make some lunch. You hungry?"

Michonne breathed peacefully. "Very."

* * *

Rick dropped down onto his couch, it was one of the only furniture in the livingroom along with a big-screened television and book shelf. The kitchen was as empty too. No food was in there except a pack of Ziti and a jar of tomato sauce.

Eyelids half shut, Rick had his phone pressed against his ear. "You said this was important?"

"Yeah," it was Denise, she sounded hyped. "I'm way too weirded out to wait for you to come down to the lab to tell you."

"So, what is it?" Rick asked, yawning away from the phone.

"It's Mike." Denise said. "The Walsh's buried an empty casket, right?"

"Right. Yeah. Cause they needed the closure. Why?"

"Yeah, so, with Mike's body, I did a little more checking and I found this weird substance in his mouth. Blood and some other stuff so I did a few tests and…the blood belongs to Michonne."

"He had Michonne's blood in his mouth?" Rick chuckled tiredly. "Are you joking?"

"No. Rick. It was Michonne's blood and skin in Mike's mouth, or more specifically, in his _teeth_."

Rick's eyes opened fully. "What the hell?"

"That was my first thought. Now, do you remember that gash I found in Michonne's throat the first time I met her?"

"Yeah…?" Rick sat up.

"I think Mike bit Michonne. The gash was shaped weirdly, I remember. But now I know." Denise sighed. "All we know from this is that Mike attacked Michonne the night of his death, but maybe we can piece it all together. Get her a specialist; they can jog her memory so we can know what happened."

"…You know what? Let me try first." Rick said, rubbing at his eyes. "Then get her a specialist."

"Okay, your choice." Denise sighed. "I'm sorry for dropping all that info on you, I know you've been tired lately. Get some sleep, Rick."

* * *

 ** _Thoughts? Suggestions? Criticisms? Predictions?_ Please leave a review. See y'all next Tues. i hate typos guys :( don't laugh when you find em.**


	5. Chapter Five of Many

**a/n:** ** _I know I'm not the most popular Richonne fanfiction writer on the block but, with all of the views and favorites and reviews that you guys give me, it sure as hell makes me feel like it. Thank you for all of your reviews, I appreciate it so much, all your kind words, theories and criticisms. Thank you so much._**

 **IMPORTANT: " _oo_ " means it's a flashback. That's important because I don't really favor italicizing my flashbacks. Reason? I only use italics to indicate a brand, the names of buildings, texts, handwritten letters or if someone puts a deep emphasis on something they've said. Hope I don't confuse any of you! **

* * *

**_oo_**

He picked through the small Walmart bag that sat on the table until his hands came around the fat tube of _PearlyWhites_.

He sucked his teeth as he called up to her from the dining room. "It's so shit that you'd go out and buy this toothpaste when we still need dish detergent."

"What did you say?" Michonne yelled back—genuinely having not heard him—over the sound of running water from the bathroom.

"It's fucking ridiculous, Michonne." Mike stalked up the carpeted staircase until he reached the first room on his right, the bathroom. It was where he found Michonne, her face was painted colorfully with makeup, and her hair was clipped up in a blue butterfly pin.

"Wow…you look beautiful."

"Thank you." She replied, setting down her mascara stick.

"Just—ditch the hairclip. You look like you just lost in a beauty pageant." Mike set the toothpaste on the sink edge. "This is ridiculous, Michonne."

"How so?" She asked as she unpinned her hair from the clip.

"Clean dishes are more important than white teeth and good breath. That's how." Mike began exiting the bathroom, but not before he said: "Get some soap."

"Mike, the money I used on the toothpaste belongs to _me_ and if you want soap to clean the _one_ spoon in the sink then I suggest you get into your car and get it yourself. _I'm_ not going out again." She said to his back. "Neither of us should anyway, dinner party's in an hour. Maybe tomorrow you can get right to doing that."

Mike turned with hard eyes as she opened the toothpaste cap and squirted it onto the bristles of her purple toothbrush.

She caught him glaring and looked up. "Is there something you need, Michael?"

"Less attitude." He seemed irritated as he walked down the hall.

"Ditto." Michonne replied in a low tone as she brought her brush up to her mouth, eying the hair clip she knew she was going to put back into her head.

* * *

"So he hits the guy with his vehicle, kills him and _then_ proceeds to tell him to shut up? Guy seems pretty dense."

Rick's shoulder propped his phone against his ear as he buttoned up his jeans. He was standing in front of the bathroom mirror after a shower.

"Trust me, he's not. He's just been through a lot." Carl replied.

He had just listened through twenty minutes of Carl talking about a comic book, the tale of a man attempting to survive in a post-apocalyptic world with his family.

And though he wasn't a big fan of fiction, he couldn't say he was uninterested.

"I'm sure you know all about that." Rick said, grabbing his gray button-up shirt and slipping his hands into the sleeves. "You've been reading those books for how long now?"

"It's only been a year." Carl said casually. "The issues are monthly, you know."

"Actually, I _didn't_ know." Rick began buttoning his shirt. "I've never read them."

"And that makes you literally the corniest Dad on the planet." Carl joked.

The sound of loud knocks on his door stopped him from joking along with him.

"Hey, I got company, gotta go." Rick said, exiting his bathroom. "And oh, read a dictionary, Carl. It's _much_ more interesting."

"I'm sure it is." Carl laughed. "Goodbye, Rick."

* * *

"Did you ever really love me? Of course you were with me for three years but that doesn't necessarily mean you loved me. It could have meant something else. It could've meant a whole lot of things." Her arm was numb from having been lying on it for the past hour as she spoke into the cold air around her.

Michonne wiggled her fingers, feeling pins and needles painfully shock through them but she didn't make a sound.

Another tear of many dripped down the middle of her nose, down the curve of her cheek and onto her arm. "Why do I miss you? You were…a vile and abusive man and sometimes I _really_ wanted to hurt you." She sighed. "But that was only when things were bad, and when things were bad, they were _really_ bad. But…when everything was going well, they were amazing.

"It is complete horse shit that you can just be two different people, because I will never stop hating you and I also will never stop loving you and I don't know if that makes me a bad person or another. But I'm just being honest."

"I hope that's not what you're planning on saying at his birthday celebration."

It was Antoinette. Michonne jumped up and saw her sister standing by the guest bedroom's door, a dark red dress dangled from her right hand and black heels in the left.

"Antoinette." Michonne was surprised. "Were you standing there the whole time? Just listening?"

"No." Antoinette entered the room. "I was going through my closet, looking for an outfit for you to wear tonight."

"Looks like you found what you were looking for." Michonne wiped at her face as she peeled the blankets from herself and dropped down from the bed, her sleeping gown wrinkled. "I'm not writing some big speech. I'm just going to say what's at the top of my head."

"Let's pray you're in a good mood then." Antoinette slung the dress over the back of the chair that sat by the door and set the heels on the ground beside it. "Um…have you completely forgotten you have work in thirty minutes?"

"Oh my god." Michonne widened her eyes as she rushed to the closet. "Work? Work!"

* * *

"I got us bagels." Alannah said, wearing gray sweatpants and a sweatshirt, her scarlet curls bouncing in a fuzzy bun in the back of her head. Her skin was pale brown and clean of any makeup, eyes hazel and lively.

"They were out of those cute little tubes of butter," she continued, "so I had to go to _Javier's_ and get a whole pack with the sticks. Yeah, I hope you don't mind the extra food in your fridge."

He watched as she set the brown paper bag on the kitchen table and removed a cup of Greek yogurt, two smoothies and two paper plates of bagels.

"Believe me, I got space." He said, sitting down as she slid him a smoothie and bagels.

"Believe _me_ when _I_ say _I know_." Alannah replied, pulling out one of the two chairs to sit across from him. She split one of her bagels and grabbed the box of butter.

"So how's Sasha? Did the surgery go well?" He asked.

"It went more than well." Alannah stabbed her straw into the smoothie cap and began slurping. "Sasha says she doesn't even _feel_ the dull ache in her knee anymore. It's just post-operation pain she has to deal with now and she says even _that_ doesn't affect her. She can get back to work in a few more days but she has to take it easy."

"I'm happy for her." He finished off one half of his bagel and went for the other. "I'm sure Abe's happy too. Does he know?"

"Abe?" Alannah swallowed a chunk of strawberry. "Oh yeah, I was there when she called him. He doesn't have much time to come to the phone with all the construction work he's doing in Marietta with Glenn…but he still made time for his lovely fiancé."

"No surprise there, he loves her."

"He most certainly does." Alannah ate of spoonful of her yogurt. "And oh! I just remembered—there might not be any Alannah dinners for a while, Rick."

Rick looked up at her. "What do you mean?"

"Maggie and I promised Sasha that we'd spend as much time with her during her taking-it-easy days as we could. So, I won't have time to get you that weird pizza you like so much. I don't understand that appeal, though. Is it something in the cheese?"

"It's _everything_." Rick had a fascinated look on his face as he spoke about the food. "Not just the cheese, have you even tasted the green peppers, the bacon, and the tomatoes? Delicious. Shoot, I'm afraid I'm going to miss that."

Alannah watched him with a giggle. "And what about me?"

"What do you take me for? Of course I'll miss your perky presence, Alannah."

"You'd better. My Dad thinks I do too much for you already, Rick." Alannah bit into her buttered bagel.

"He's just jealous I get the treatment."

"Yeah, okay, I'm sure my 50-year-old Caucasian father living it up in a huge, expensive house in Savannah is jealous of you, a lonely cop whose only friend works at a super market, oh and is also an accused _murderer_ who—" Alannah broke off seeing the amused look leave Rick's face.

She sighed. "Still a touchy subject, I see."

 _"'_ _Only friend'_?" Rick continued eating his breakfast. "So you and I aren't friends anymore?"

"I didn't mean it like that." She reassured him. "I just feel we're much more than that." Alannah said half-nonchalantly. "We're too close to just be friends and we've known each other for over two years, you know what I mean?"

"I guess." Rick shrugged. "Are you trying to say you're like my sister?"

"No! Rick, of course not!" She stared at him incredulously. "We are _nothing_ like siblings."

"Really?"

"Yeah _really_. I just don't see us like that. That would be…odd."

"So what are we then?" He asked.

"Partners, and nothing and _no one_ is going to change that."

"You're right." Rick said, standing from the table.

"Where are you going?"

"I gotta get some gas for that thing you're taking me to tonight." Rick picked up his untouched smoothie, grabbed his keys from the hook on the wall and patted Alannah's head. "See you there?"

"All dolled up and pretty? Of course."

* * *

8:37 _pm_.

Rick tore his eyes away from his watch just in time to see that Alannah had entered the main room of the hotel. Her usually fuzzy hair was now in long waves down her shoulders and she wore a strapless blue dress.

Seeing him, her face brightened and she hastened toward him.

"Alannah. You look good." Rick said as she hugged him.

Alannah pulled back with a grin.

"Blame it on my good taste." She joked, her eyes running down what he wore, which was a black suit over a white shirt that was open at the chest. "It's hot in here, isn't it?"

"Yeah." Rick tugged at his open collar. "Wish they had air conditioning."

* * *

"Jesse? What the _hell_ are you drinking?" Alannah moved away from the refreshment table—stuffed the peppermints into the pocket of her dress—to approach the brown-skinned, green-eyed boy who stood in the corner of the room.

He carried a champagne glass, golden liquid sloshed inside.

Jesse looked up. "Uh…nothing."

His eyes moved suspiciously as he brought the drink back to his lips.

Alannah bit her lip and snatched the glass from his grip, bringing her nose to the rim of the glass. After sniffing, she slapped him playfully at his shoulder. "You had better be glad that was Ginger Ale. Don't play with me like that, boy." She handed him back the glass with a laugh.

Jesse, smiling as well, moved forward to hug her. "Unlike most of the pea-brained kids at my school, I wouldn't be so bone-headed as to drink alcohol in the same room as you, Mom."

"You should have said 'at all'." She patted Jesse on his shoulder. "I don't want you drinking until you have white hair and a few grandkids running at your feet."

"But you've still got a youthful color in your hair and _you_ drink." He told her.

Alannah shook her head guiltily.

"I think someone should learn to practice what they preach." Jesse added, getting a laugh from his mother.

* * *

The hotel's lounge was slowly but surely filling with more people and their families. Rick saw Katrina and her siblings enter, they had greeted many and they now had taken their place at the refreshment table.

His eyes went past Alannah who stood in the corner drinking with her son Jesse. He always liked when the kid was around.

He remembered those depressing times of the custody battle she had endured with the boy's father and was glad those were over for good.

Alannah threw her head back with laughter at something Jesse had said and his mouth curved in a smile.

Rick turned away from them to see who else had entered, his eyes taking in the appearance of a slim woman. She wore a strappy red U-neck dress and carried a black clutch.

As his gaze ran up her, he saw that her dreads had been tightened up into a ponytail at the top of her head, the locks fell down the sides of her face thickly. Silver beads were on each cord of hair.

He instantly moved toward her, almost knocking into a man in a black suit.

She had not noticed yet though because her eyes were fixated on her phone, her fingers swiping and pressing at the screen.

Rick stopped in front of the woman and tapped her shoulder. "What would we do without phones, right?"

"Huh?" Michonne looked up in surprise and then realized. "Oh, my god I am _so_ rude."

She turned the screen off on her phone and began putting it into her purse. "I was busy as shit at work today, cleaning and stocking shelves for hours."

As she spoke, Rick kept an eye on her. Stifling a laugh at how adorable she looked as she was so incredibly high-minded into thinking she'd have to explain to him why exactly she was on her phone at her murdered fiancé's birthday celebration.

Her eyebrows were bunched and her eyes were intensely honest.

"Worked my fingers to the damn bone." She shook her head. "When I got to Antoinette's, I had to jump in the shower and get dressed. I never got a chance to text my parents.". "And that was"—she brushed a cord behind her ear—"what I was doing just now."

She stood there in a silence, Rick's eyes on her. "My god, that was rude too. I never even greeted you."

Rick burst into a chuckle. "Yeah."

Michonne finally smiled and began laughing too, shaking her head. "I guess you kind of just witnessed 'worked up' Michonne. Was it torture?"

"I think I'll survive." Rick responded. "It's nice to see you again, Michonne."

She reached out and squeezed his shoulder gently. "Ditto."

* * *

Alannah crunched on another peppermint and washed it down with some of Jesse's ginger ale. The celebration seemed to be starting now, as the lights had dimmed and the stage was brightened. Mike's mother, and Alannah's aunt Gina was gripping a microphone, standing behind a podium.

"I just wanted to thank everyone for coming here in celebration of the day my son Michael Reed Walsh came into this world and changed my life." Gina smiled, and though being over forty, looked as if she could pass for a simple twenty-year-old. "I…" Gina trailed off, her smile faltering.

Alannah scrunched her eyebrows and followed her gaze to see what had caused that.

It was Michonne. She was laughing quietly, with Rick who was smiling at her. Michonne's hand was on his shoulder, her jeweled thumb lightly caressing the material of his suit.

Alannah had to force herself from rolling her eyes.

"I, um," Gina's voice brought Alannah's attention back to her. "I've never been more grateful to mother a child. He made me feel happy, made me feel proud to be a Mom. I always felt my sister Richie had done a much, much better job at raising children than me." Gina laughed again, her eyes went to Alannah. "But we both raised fine kids and the evidence is all around us. So, thank you so much for coming and being here to show your support. There are so many things we're going to do tonight and I can't wait for them. Thank you." Gina nodded and began stepping down from the stage, applause erupting from the crowds of people.

Eastman kissed her cheek and accepted the microphone and mounted the steps.

Alannah turned her head again to look for Rick, but her wondering eyes only found Katrina.

The woman wore a tight backless white dress, white rose earrings and her hair was slick in a ponytail. The shoulder strap and nose bandage took no attention away from her beauty. And she was incredibly beautiful for her age.

But what kept Alannah's attention was the fact that her arm was slung around the shoulder of fourteen-year-old Jesse, who was nearly as tall as her. They were speaking quietly to each other. Katrina, grinning, leaned down to whisper something in his ear and Alannah swore she saw the woman's lips brush against Jesse's ear.

Alannah flinched, any emotion draining from her face. She had begun feeling sick.

She'd seen a lot of fucked up shit, it was typical for her to have based on what she did for a living. But this…she could feel something twisting in her stomach.

" _The fuck?"_ She whispered, shocked and disturbed as she headed in her son's direction.

* * *

 **After reading, I'm sure you can tell this was a bit of rest, kind of a filler but-I'm just getting you prepared for the next chapters which I hope you will think are as good as I think they are. :)**

 **Well...I'm done writing. It's your turn. See you guys.**


	6. Chapter Six of Many

**_a/n: Someone asked if I would be updating any time soon. Now you've got your answer. I sincerely hope many of you are still with me because I have a lot to offer. I am sorry for the two month delay. I have too many excuses with so little time. Thank you for the forty reviews, I am soooo grateful._**

* * *

 ** _oo_**

"Should I not have said what I did at the dinner party?"

"The _dinner party_?!" Michonne repeated incredulously, gripping her cellphone as she stopped in front of the staircase to face her fiancé. She was a bit disturbed at the voicemail she had just gotten from a slurred and intoxicated someone but it did not lessen her anger for him. "This isn't about the dinner party, Mike!"

"Of course it's not about that." Mike said defensively, crossing his arms across his chest. He wore the same expression that he'd had since they had hurriedly gotten back from his other home. "It's about my family. The family that _you_ want to tear apart."

"I'm doing justice." Michonne gripped her phone tighter. "And if doing that means tearing a family apart, then guess what? I'm okay with it."

"You may be, but I'm not, and I won't let you do this."

"What?" She challenged him with her eyes. "Are you going to _physically_ stop me from leaving my own house?"

"If I have to." Mike took a step toward her.

Normally when they were this close to each other it was under a different circumstance.

She tilted her head. "You gonna try and trap Andre and I in my house with you, Michael? Just to keep this broken family together? Even if it's as shattered and in pieces as it is?"

"If I _have to_." He repeated, this time with a more honest note to his voice.

"You wouldn't." She said, shaking her head.

"That's what _you_ believe." If it was possible, he seemed to step closer to her.

"Get away from me." She turned her head and moved to get down the stairs. "I'm leaving, taking Andre with me too. And when I finally find a way to get you out of my house, we'll be back."

Mike's hand closed around her upper arm, preventing her from moving any farther down the steps. "No _the shit_ you're not! Dammit, Michonne. You're not making this easy."

"Let me go." She tugged away from him. "Get your hands _off of me!"_

Every second that he clamped on to her was every second that the doubt that he would ever seriously hurt her seemed to vanish.

His eyes were questioning as he lowered himself onto the same stair. "I've never done anything to you! Why are you acting like I'm the devil?"

"You've" —She laughed humorlessly, though he was still gripping her arm tightly and it was beginning to feel numb. _The irony_ , she thought — "you've never done anything to me?" She sobered. "Next joke, please."

Mike wrinkled his eyebrows. "Wh—?"

"Don't try and play the confused saint, Mike." She shook her arm to get him off and in result he surprisingly let her go. That was the first step. "Disregarding every _physical_ thing you have ever done to hurt me and my family. There are also things that you need to be held accountable for. Things that were merely words."

"Like what?"

" _Like what?_ " She repeated. "Like, oh I don't know, defending that dirty pedophile that lives in that other house. Like using your fatherly position in Andre's life to make decisions for my son, _wrong_ decisions at that. Also, telling me that the features on _my_ body would look _so_ much better on lighter skin. What the _hell_ was that about? That you 'not being a devil? Was that you 'never doing anything to me'?"

Mike spluttered. "It-it was a complemental joke! Why do you take everything so seriously, Michonne?"

"A 'complemental joke'?" Her mouth dropped open, she was disgusted that he would think she or any other woman would ever feel complimented by those words. "Excuse my rotten language but I don't recall hearing the damn punchline or the fucking compliment!"

Mike still eyed her down as if he were the most innocent, confused person in the entire world, it just made her even angrier. "It was—I didn't mean—how do—?"

"Shut up, Mike. Just shut the fuck up. For the first time in the three decades of your exhausting life… _don't use words_. This just has me wondering why the devil I'm still here. I have given you so many chances, letting you off from all of the bullshit and I've _never_ left. Keep in mind I have no permanent ties with you or your family! We're not married, Andre's not even related to you. But—!" She struggled to find the words as she furiously swiped at her moist forehead. "Maybe it's because I felt I _deserved_ this, to be put through this torture just to give Andre a father—because I didn't try hard enough with Siddiq. Couldn't make him help me raise his son. That's—yeah, that's what I felt. But not anymore. I'm done. I've been saying this to myself for the past year but finally I mean it. And I am 100%, positively _past_ done."

Mike shook his head. "You can't do that. You can't just come into our lives, connect with us, make us care for Andre and then _leave._ I've raised that boy for three damn years, this ain't happening. I don't care what DNA or the papers say. I _am_ Andre's father, and you are _not_ taking him away from me."

Michonne breathed confidently. "Watch me."

She prepared to descend the steps, moving one of her booted feet when she felt the palms of his hands press against her back, and her body began falling forward, tumbling roughly down the staircase. Banging the sides of her face, her thighs, arms, legs, back, all in such an incredible pain.

When she was finally at the bottom of the staircase, lying there unable to move because of the agony, she cracked open one of her eyelids to see Mike slowly coming down the stairs. He had a look on his face, as if he were shocked he had just done that. But the look in his eyes almost looked proud of himself.

He squatted down beside her and reached down, brushing a few of his fingers against her forehead, down her cheek. He brought his thumb across her top lip. "Michonne? Are you okay?"

She panicked, her heart rate increasing, she had never been more afraid of him before. All of the other times it was just a smack, a light swing of his hand, or a "playful" shove into the wall. But now, it was much worse than that. Now he had decided to almost murder her.

"You've…" she gasped to breathe, tightened her aching fingers around the blinking device she'd been holding for the entire moment. "You've never done anything to me, Mike?"

They were what she planned to be her last words as she could feel a searing burn in her back. Maybe she was paralyzed, or maybe it was just temporary. All she thought was that she wouldn't be getting out of this house tonight.

Mike bunched his brows together, looking down at her. "Michonne…I-"

Before he could say another word, she had finally unpinned her arm from beneath her abdomen and groaned as she smashed her cellphone into his face.

* * *

"I don't even know why I'm here." Michonne admitted, after sobering from a hilariously lame detective joke Rick had just told her.

"Hmm?" Rick looked over to her, she saw him take in her fallen expression.

She shook her head. "Why did I even come here?" Michonne looked around at everybody, confusion and anger in her eyes.

"You're showing your support for Mike and his f—"

"Please. Don't even say the word." Michonne shook her head. "They don't deserve it."

Rick fully turned to face her, obviously catching on to the sudden shift in her mood. "Are you okay, Michonne?"

"I was." Michonne cleared her throat. "But now? Not so much."

She saw Rick's mouth open but his words were cut short by the buzzing of her cell phone. Michonne thought about ignoring it for the sake of not being rude.

But, right now, she found herself uncaring.

She dug out her phone and turned the screen on. There she was met with a text.

 **Antoinette: Did you get my voicemail?**

Michonne sighed and went through her voicemails, her thumb accidentally scrolled too far and pressed against one of the older ones.

 _"_ _Um…yeah…Mee-chonne?"_ The recording began and the female voice spoke drunkenly. _"It's me Alannah."_

Michonne's scrunched up her face. When did she get a voicemail from Alannah?

 _"_ _You are one screwed up girl, you know that? First, you steal him, and then you try to raise a kid with him? It's pretty screwed up; I mean this whole thingy is totally screwed up. Do you see how screwed up that is? It is."_

Rick looked to Michonne, as puzzled as her. "What is that?"

"Voicemail." Michonne said. "From Alannah."

Michonne paused the recording and went through the info tab. The voicemail was sent _November 22nd_. The day Mike died.

Michonne hurried to resume the voicemail.

 _"_ _I don't think that being so drunk and so far away is going to help this sitch at all, ya know? I should—I should come over. I totally should over, don't you think? I'll be there and I'm not happy at all. It's all your fault."_

"You two have spoken?" Rick asked.

"No, Rick, this message was sent the night of Mike's death. Which means Alannah was there." She told him. "What if she kill—?"

"Wait." Rick looked like he'd been flooded with too much information. "That doesn't make a lick of sense. Alannah was with me when we got the call."

"Rick, she clearly says she'll be at my house in this recording." Michonne told him, trying not to be too pushy about it. "And I think she was."

"That's…" Rick turned away, blinking. "I need some space." He walked toward the doors that lead into the corridor of the building.

Michonne followed quickly after.

* * *

"Let's go, Jess." Alannah said, the second she approached the duo.

Katrina swung her arm from over Jesse's neck. "Oh it's nice to see you, 'Lannah."

Alannah ignored her as she pulled her son from away from the woman. They began walking towards the door of the room. Leaving Katrina confused.

"What is going on, Mom?" Jesse asked as they exited the building.

"Just come on."

* * *

"She asked you to come over?" Alannah shut the car door behind her and looked over to her son. "For what? To play Mom and Dad?"

"No, Mom!" Jesse looked puzzled. "She said she would talk to me, give me advice. Play board games. Stuff like that. Why?"

Alannah shook her head as she settled back into the driver's seat. "Nothing. Just…please don't go near Katrina again. Okay?" She looked to Jesse. "Okay?"

"Mom. She's my friend, she's family. Why not?"

"Stop asking questions, Jess. It's adult business." Her cellphone had begun ringing and she picked through her purse as she spoke. "Just don't go near her again."

Jesse nodded. "Okay."

"Now go get me some more peppermints and then we'll get out of here." She assured him.

"Yes." Jesse opened his door and stepped out.

Alannah answered the call, pressing the phone flat against her ear. "Detective Walsh here."

"Yes, Alannah?" It had been one of the officers at the station by the name of Francine. "We obtained the footage from the Passion City Church. Do you want to come back to the station to look over it? You should."

Alannah scrunched her eyebrows together. "That means you've taken a look at it already?"

"Yeah. I have." Francine told her.

"Well, I'm not planning on coming back to the station tonight, and I gotta take care of some family stuff. So tell me…who of the two started the brawl?"

"From what I saw on the footage, it was most definitely Katrina who approached, provoked and attacked Michonne as Ms. Tilley said. And it just went all out from there."

Alannah sat up. "So, Katrina lied _right_ to my face…" She spoke to herself. "Thank you, Francine. I'll come take a look at it myself tomorrow."

* * *

Michonne pushed into the Men's bathroom since she'd seen Rick disappear in here. She entered to find him leaning over the sink, looking himself in the eyes—those blue eyes.

"You okay?" She asked, holding onto her clutch as she shivered.

"Do you always follow detectives into bathrooms?" He asked, though the humor was not really there.

"Only the ones that I'm worried about." She replied honestly.

Michonne sighed, tilting her head at him. "Look, I know it's hard to believe that your best friend, your partner. Someone that you care so much about could've done a thing like that, I'm sor—" She broke off at the sound of Rick chuckling.

She knitted her eyebrows.

"The funny thing is…" Rick was smiling humorlessly at himself in the mirror. "I'm relieved."

She rose her eyebrows.

"R-re _lieved_?" She stared at him. "I'm not sure I'm getting what you're saying."

He turned away from the mirror to face her full-on, and then rubbed his eyes as he walked over to her. "I'm relieved that you didn't do it after all. More so that this might be the evidence to prove that." He said. "I always knew you didn't do it."

She looked down at her feet.

"I should be fuming." He admitted as he began walking around her. "Alannah might've killed her cousin for…some reason. I should be _angry_. I should feel betrayed." He stopped beside her. "So, why do I feel like I just won the lottery?"

She looked at him in surprise, but it was more in shock.

"I wouldn't know…" She trailed off as his hand made contact with the side of her face. She didn't move, just looked up at him. Things like this had happened before—him touching her, and her not knowing what it meant—like at the station.

His thumb brushed her skin.

"Rick." Michonne began, but never even knew what she was going to say because Rick had lowered his head and was moving in to her lips at a murderously slow pace. She could tell he was waiting for a green light.

His lips were so close to her own, but the thoughts were going through her head. This would most-likely immediately take Rick off of the case if it were to happen and if anyone were to somehow find out. That thought made her wonder why Alannah was even still working the murder with her relations to Mike. That brought her to her next thought—everyone would think she did it to seduce and sway him.

And lastly, Rick was the one person she knew that actually spent the time trying to figure out the truth with no bias. He was probably the only one who believed her. Him being off the case would be the _worst_ thing that could ever happen. It would _ruin_ everything.

But she couldn't deny that this would be something that she's endlessly pondered over the few times that they'd been around each other. The times she noticed the innocent flirting, the lingering looks, the heart-thumping, butterfly-worthy moments that she couldn't just ignore. It would sort her feelings out for her and probably be the _best_ thing that could ever happen.

Cons outweighed the pros.

And he was closer than ever now.

 _Fuck it_ , she thought.

And made that move, flicked that green light by moving in and kissing him, she gripped onto his collar to press him up against her as tight as they could be and then found herself burying her fingers into his hair.

She twisted and curved into the kiss, trying to get as much of him as she could.

Rick's hands were on her lower back, clutching her tightly. She opened her eyes for a moment and saw that his were closed and she shut her own again.

She lightly gasped when she felt her shoulders touch the cold wall and then the rest of her back.

And Rick's hands were now sliding over the curve of her ass.

Michonne unintentionally released a low moan, and it somehow seemed to rouse Rick up a bit more. She felt his hands raising the hem of her dress.

But they were abruptly stopped when the restroom opened—Rick and Michonne jumped apart—and in stepped Ty Walsh.

Michonne froze.

* * *

 **For my first chapter back into the game I'd like to know your favorite line, favorite moment and thoughts overall. Thank you so much if you're still sticking with me.**


	7. Chapter Seven of Many

**a/n: y'all, if you find typos or some stupidly constructed sentences. blame it on my lack of sleep. I wrote the last half of this chapter while I was dozing at 9 in the morning (right now) because I wanted to give y'all a chapter. Reminder that as of now there is no schedule, I'll just be posting when I want to. Most likely every week. Thank you for sticking with me.**

* * *

She was completely still, heart thumping, mouth minty from Rick, who stood beside her.

Ty hadn't looked toward them yet, his eyes were fixed on his belt as he struggled to get it unbuckled, cursing under his breath with irritation. He must've noticed another presence in the room because he started to look up.

Michonne panicked.

But was surprised when Rick steadily pushed her against the wall again and drove his mouth into hers.

She kept her eyes open wide, momentarily confused as to why he would even consider making out with her in front of a Walsh but slid her arms around his neck regardless.

"Come on, people, have some respect, at least get a _room_." She heard Ty mutter quickly before he hurried past them and disappeared behind the row of stalls where they heard him close himself into one and then the noisy spill of his urine.

Rick pulled away, looking like a man with a plan, giving her no time to speak or react, and grabbed her hand. He pulled open the restroom door and tugged her out with him.

He released her hand once they were out. "That was close." He said.

"Nice save." She said after realizing what had just happened.

He was still walking. All she could see was his hair and clothes, she didn't know what he was thinking. Heat was curling up inside her tummy, she was desperate to know what was on his mind.

They passed the door that led back to the event and instead entered the front area.

"You're leaving?" She asked while gripping her clutch tight in her hand.

Rick pushed the door open, letting in a gust of chilling air.

He looked over his shoulder at her. "Aren't you?"

"I wasn't planning on it, no."

"Well, I don't know about you but I really don't want to go back in there just to face Alannah after what we just learned, or more importantly, after what we just _did_. I'm not a very good liar, you know."

She was about to state that he has never lied to her but just couldn't muster up the courage.

"Fair enough." Michonne nodded, stepping outside before him. "What are you going to do about her?"

Rick walked alongside her toward the parked vehicles. "I don't know. Just because she said she was coming to your house, doesn't necessarily mean she actually ended up going. But she didn't even bother to tell anyone she tried calling you, so…it's possible she actually did."

Michonne watched him with curious eyes, her breath coming out as white smoke. It was really getting colder these days. "Do you think she killed him, Rick?"

"I'm thinking a lot of things." Rick breathed out as he watched the sky, releasing a huff of white smoke, she could see the exhaustion and frustration in his eyes. "Your theory isn't an exception."

Michonne shook her head. She could understand that. Finding out that someone you care about might have done something horrible would probably leave her speechless and conflicted for a long time. She wouldn't even want to think about it.

Her eyes took in the sight of her blue jeep parked beside a catering company's truck.

"This is me." She announced as she headed in the direction of her car.

She stalked up to the side and retrieved her keys from her clutch. Michonne stuck it into the car and unlocked it and then turned to say her goodbyes to Rick, only to find herself bumping into his chest.

His hands slipped around her waist to steady her from falling, pulling her into his chest. And once again, they were too close to each other.

Her face and neck seemed to warm up and her eyes flitted up to meet his, he didn't say a thing, he was just watching her.

"Was that wrong?" She asked in a lower tone, her gaze sweeping his lips. "Doing what we did in there?"

Rick slightly shrugged. "I don't know. Do we care?"

"We should." She said, and then raised her brow at him. "You don't?"

"Not at all. It'll probably hit me like a train in the morning but…I don't feel regret and…there isn't a part of me that feels like it was wrong." He admitted to her so easily. "Do you?"

"Feel regret?" Michonne tried to fish out some part of her that didn't want this, that wished she was never so careless but the struggle was futile. "Surprisingly, no."

"So then…" Rick moved closer to her face so that their noses were practically touching. "What's one more in a cold parking lot consisting of two regret-less and reckless people?" He asked seriously.

Rick sat there a moment, studying her eyes as if he were reading her thoughts.

"Nonexistent." She replied with a grin, getting one from him too.

His nose brushed hers as he went in and kissed her smile, his grip around her waist tightening.

She slanted her head with her eyes shut and pulled him down at her, furthering the pressure of their connected lips, deepening the kiss.

* * *

" _I was doing fine without you_." She sang as quietly as she could, entering the house and shutting the door. Michonne stuck the keys in the lock and twisted it firmly. Michonne turned. " _Till I saw your face, now I can't erase, giving into all his bull-SHIT!_ "

She jumped in panic at the sight of a figure sitting at the table. Upon realizing it had only been Antoinette, she released a breath, holding onto her heart.

"It's late." Antoinette commented, stirring the steaming mug that sat in front of her.

"You _scared_ me." Michonne said, flicking on the light and kicking off her shoes.

"Sorry."

"Is Andre asleep?" Michonne sat her clutch on the counter and slid into the seat across from her sister.

"I wouldn't know that." Antoinette sipped her beverage. "He's staying the night at the Anderson's."

"You should've told me that earlier. I wanted to give him these mints I got from the event." Michonne dug into her pocket and dropped the candies onto the table.

"I tried. But you never picked up, so I left a voicemail." Antoinette grabbed a mint. "Then I sent you a text telling you that I sent a voicemail."

"Oh, yeah." Michonne sighed. "Don't eat all of those. Andre'll want them in the morning."

"How was your night?" Antoinette asked, crunching on the candy. "You look cheery—which is unusual, especially after what you did."

Michonne leaned against her fist. "Nothing special happened." Then she sat up straight as she registered her sister's last words. "Wait—'after what I did'?"

"To Mike."

Michonne scoffed. "So, you've been believing I killed him all this time…"

"Well, it's hard not to."

"Because I hated him?"

"No, because I found you covered in blood."

Michonne's eyes widened. "What?"

"Don't ask surprised, Michonne." Antoinette angrily stood from the table and approached the kitchen drawer. "You're the one who called me. Crying and shit."

"What are you talking about?" Michonne was beyond confused.

Antoinette slammed a bag onto the table. "This is what I'm talking about." Antoinette pulled on a kitchen glove and went through the bag before pulling out a knife. The blade was thick with dry blood. She dropped it on the table.

"Oh my god!" Michonne jumped up from her seat.

"You called me, Michonne. I came as soon as I could. I found you next to him." Antoinette shook her head. "I tried to make you come with me, but you wouldn't. You said you couldn't. So I—"

"So you took the murder weapon…to protect me." Michonne finished. "I didn't know."

Antoinette watched Michonne tiredly. "All this time I…I thought you were just faking the memory loss."

Michonne shook her head as she watched the murder weapon. "I'm not. But god, it all points to me. There's evidence that says otherwise but…it would make the most sense if it were me."

"No one is going to know the truth until someone comes forward. Or you remember." Antoinette approached her sister. "What is it going to take to make you remember?"

"I wish I knew." Michonne said, covering her forehead with her hand.

"We shouldn't stress about this." Antoinette said out of nowhere.

"Hmm?" Michonne looked up.

"Mike was terrible. I'm sure if you killed him, he did something to push you over the edge. I don't blame you." Antoinette patted Michonne's shoulder. "I'm glad the fucker is dead. But I don't want this to take away your smile and energy. Think of it as another bad guy biting the dust, because that's exactly what it is." Michonne nodded at her sister. "Does anyone cry when bad guys die?"

Michonne shook her head no.

"So don't." Antoinette kissed the side of Michonne's head. "Get some sleep, I love you."

"Love you too." Michonne watched Antoinette take another mint and her mug and head upstairs.

* * *

"What do you remember from that night? Anything out of the ordinary?"

Carol Peletier shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "Well…the arguing, the screaming, those were—I'd say—pretty ordinary."

"They argued a lot?" Rick asked, taking a bite out of one of the cookie's she'd offered him.

"Probably twice a week, maybe more. They increased after the rumors went around …" Carol sipped her herbal tea using one hand while patting the upper back of the sleeping, dark-haired infant that lay over her lap. "It was ugly."

"Rumors?"

"Yeah. At one of the women's sessions, a few of us noticed Michonne's bruises. They covered her throat and her arms." Carol shook her head. "Sometimes she was sore, or really tired. Sometimes she didn't even want to leave the meeting…like she was afraid. It left us all worried. So we began to wonder about Mike."

"You thought he was abusing her?" Rick scribbled up a more to-the-point version of what she had just told him into his notepad.

"Thought? We _knew_. We _still_ know." The infant at her lap stirred so she lowered her tone. "She dropped the women's group after we confronted her. She rarely left her house and they argued a _lot_ more. Sometimes we could hear things being thrown or…" Carol took a breath. "Or someone tumbling down the stairs. That one happened too many times for it to be an accident."

"Did you ever call the police?"

"Yes. Many times. But to no avail." Carol took another sip. "I don't know what he did to evade an investigation but it never worked so everyone just stopped trying. Michonne wasn't talking and we were all tired."

"So…nothing out of the ordinary that night is what you said?"

"No, nothing out of the—" Carol nearly spilled her tea. "Wait. There is something."

"What?" Rick looked up from his pad.

"When the thumping subsided, I saw a blue car—I don't know the model—it pulled up onto the curb. There was a woman."

"A woman?"

"Yeah, she used something to open the door and she went inside. She was in there for maybe 10 minutes before she left."

Rick sighed, his stomach had begun knotting. "Is there anything you remember about this woman?"

"Oh yeah…I do remember something." Carol sat down her mug. "She had red hair."

* * *

 ** _The Next Day._**

"Why can't we go anywhere again, Mom?" Andre asked, his mouth full of grits.

Michonne peeked through the blinds of the kitchen, and ground her teeth together at the sight of men with cameras lurking around Antoinette's property.

"Because…we just can't." Michonne dropped down in her seat.

"Did your lawyer leave already?" Antoinette asked, entering the kitchen in her pajamas.

"Yeah," said Michonne, drinking her lemon tea. "A few minutes ago."

"Today is going to be a boring day." Said Antoinette, picking up a plain bagel.

"You can say that again." Michonne replied.

* * *

 **Alannah** : _Did something happen?_

 **Alannah** : _Are Carl and Lori ok?_

 **Alannah** : _Rick, just answer me._

 **Alannah** _: Are you with Michonne?_

 **Alannah** _: Is she trying to make you believe she's not a killer?_

 **Alannah:** _I'm worried now._

 **Alannah** : _Are you okay? You know you can talk to me._

Rick took a long chug of the strong liquid that was in his shot glass as he scrolled through all the texts that Alannah had just sent him.

He gestured to the bartender for another one.

 **(Just now) Alannah** : _I'm doing a lot of digging tonight, looking into Mike and Michonne's relationship, seeing if I can find a visible motive for the murder._

The tender poured his glass to the tip.

Downing his last shot, Rick angrily grabbed his jacket and shrugged it on.

He stepped into the cool air and slid into the car that had been waiting for him at the curb.

Denise was at the wheel in a blue dress, her hair finally out of its ponytail. She looked at him fully, she appeared worried. "Rick, are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"Do you want me to take you home?" She asked, pulling into the street.

"No…no that's the last place I want to be right now." Rick sighed, feeling a bit dizzy. "Drop me off somewhere else."

Denise looked over to him as the green light spilled onto their faces and she proceeded around the corner.

"Where?" She asked.

* * *

She kissed Andre's forehead and pulled the blankets over his body.

Michonne smiled at his sleeping form and flicked off the light in the second guest room.

She left the room and shut the door and headed down the hall to the first guest room, which was where she dressed into Antoinette's clothes.

A long-sleeved purple shirt and baggy white shorts. It was the most comfortable thing she could find in Antoinette's house.

Michonne walked over to the window and peeked outside. The photographers hadn't let out, she could swear she saw dark forms around the house every now and then.

Michonne turned off her lamp and slid into her bed.

She laid there for a while, thinking about yesterday, the day before. And just when her eyes were slipping shut, she heard a faint thud.

She jumped up.

It sounded like it had come from the window.

 _Photographers_ , she thought.

Michonne peeled the comforter off and approached the window, Michonne unlocked it and moved to stick her head out to see who it had been, only to be knocked backward by a heavy form.

She winced as she fell flat on her back, some heavy person atop her, smelling strongly of whiskey.

"What the fuck?! All day you've been lurking outside of this house! ALL DAY! Now you break inside? What the fu—do you want to go to jail? Get the fuck off of me!" Michonne kicked upward, smacking the hell out of the person that was pressed against her.

"Hey— _hey_. It's just me."

She paused at the voice, unsure for a moment as she pushed back the curls on the person's head to reveal a face. "Rick?"

"Michonne." He replied weirdly.

She scrunched her eyebrows. "Rick, what are you doing here?"

He shrugged as he looked down at her in the dark. "I wanted to come."

"Through the damn window? Seriously? Someone could've seen you, Rick."

"I made sure they didn't."

"How?"

He said nothing.

"Exactly. Can you let me up? You almost broke my back."

Rick didn't listen but smirked before dropping his head to her chest, on her breasts. He sighed and closed his eyes.

She tried to hide her smile as she stared up at the ceiling. "Are you tired?"

"Yes." His voice was muffled against her chest.

"And you're sleeping on me?"

"Yes."

"Are you okay, Rick?"

"I don't know, I'm very drunk."

"Oh."

Michonne reached down and pulled hair out of his face so she could see his eyes. "Any particular reason why?"

"My best friend is lying to me about the biggest thing." He whispered. "I'm trying to forget about it."

 _Alannah_.

Michonne pulled his face up from out of her chest so he could look at her.

"You know you can talk to me about these things, right? Even when you're not drunk?" She asked in an almost-whisper with honest eyes.

"Talk?" He said the word with a shiver and leaned down and gently pressed his lips to hers.

He pulled back. "You're not kissing me back."

"I don't wanna take advantage of you." She said, and then tapped his shoulder. "Let me up, Rick."

He sighed, getting on his feet and pulling her up with him. "You want me to leave?"

"No." She reached over and grabbed his hand. "I want you to not be drunk so that we can talk about this."

"Well—"

"Come here." She went to the bed and hopped in without letting his hand go. "Come on. Take off your shoes. Get in."

Rick knit his eyebrows but kicked off his boots and slid into the blankets. Dropping his head on her pillow. He stared at the ceiling. She watched him, though it was very dark, wanting to know all of his thoughts.

She sighed, and scooted over to him, laying her head on his chest and shutting her eyes.

It was comfortable.

"Michonne?"

"Hmm?" She replied without opening her eyes.

"Why did you hide in the bathtub when we first met?"

She cracked one of her eyes open. "You remember that?"

Rick found her hand in the darkness and interlocked their fingers.

He nodded against the pillow. "You seemed so afraid."

She breathed in his strong aroma before speaking. "I used to hide there when I was afraid Mike was going to hit me again." She whispered, tapping her fingertips to his knuckles. "So, when I opened my eyes and saw that Mike was dead and I was covered in blood…the bathtub was my safe place."

"Mmm." He breathed slowly. "What's your safe place now?"

"Um…" she thought deeply, wondering why—as she lay in his arms comforted by his warmth and questions—she wanted to tell him that he was her safe place. "Honest and loyal people." She said back.

He was quiet after her answer, leaving her to shut her eyes and be comfortable listening to his heart beat. Sleep was not far.

"Michonne?"

"Go to sleep, Rick."

* * *

 **Please share your favorite line, favorite moment and thoughts overall. Things are coming together. I wanted to give y'all a chill chapter without crazy cliffhangers or stuff like that. Hope you enjoyed :) Time to sleep now, I've been up for over 24 hours.**

 **EDIT: So, some people are saying they're confused. I get it. Here's a better explanation.**

 **So basically, what we know so far from the flashback last chapter is that Mike shoved Michonne down the stairs and she attacked back.**

 **We learned about the wound on Michonne's throat, that the blood that was all over her clothes when they found her was her own blood and not Mike's. Denise found Michonne's flesh in Mike's mouth and teeth because he bit her somehow.**

 **We learned that Antoinette was in possession of the murder weapon and has revealed in this chapter that at the night of the murder, Michonne called her and she arrived at the house and took the evidence to protect Michonne but Michonne wouldn't come with her so she left.**

 **We now learn that Alannah drunkenly sent Michonne a voicemail saying she was going to the house the night of the murder. And Rick learned from Carol that a red-haired woman-Alannah is a redhead-was at the house for ten minutes before leaving in a blue car. That's what we know so far. Basically, no one (not even you guys), knows who the killer is right now.**


	8. Chapter Eight of Many

**welcome back, lovelies! enjoy!**

* * *

Michonne pushed Antoinette's door open.

Andre sat in front of the TV, a controller in his hand, the TV casting light against his face. He was mashing buttons.

Antoinette was lying on her stomach on her animal-print bed-sheets with Michonne's pink wireless controller. Candy and chip bags littered the sheets around her.

"Oh hey, Mom!" Andre didn't take his eyes off the screen as he and Antoinette ruthlessly fought with the characters. "Finally ready to kick my a—?"

"Hey! Don't say that word. Ever. And yes...I'm here to bruise some butt." Michonne kissed the side of his head and hopped onto the bed where she dug into Antoinette's half-eaten pretzel bag.

Antoinette's attention was glued to the game. "Oh come on, Andre! I'm a newbie, you can't keep killing me like this!"

Andre laughed, looking back at his aunt. "I can't help it, it's so easy."

Michonne grinned with a mouth full of pretzels as the game went to Character Select.

Antoinette tossed Michonne's controller to her. "Here. Take it. Kick his butt."

Michonne caught it and threw the pretzel bag at Antoinette. "Stress eating?"

"A 13-year-old kid will do that to you."

Michonne chuckled, then slipped off the bed to sit next to Andre. "Now, I only have half an hour before I have to go to work. So I'll make this quick, alright?"

Andre looked over to his mom mischievously. "Oh, you can try."

* * *

" _Michonne Tilley_? Rick? Are you kidding me?" Was the first thing Denise said the second he had slid into her car.

Her hair was wild in some areas and she was wearing a two-piece set of floral pajamas. She must've literally rolled out of bed to pick him up.

"What?" Rick looked to her and picked a fry from her recently ordered tray that sat in between the two. He bit into it. "You dropped me off there, so don't act so surprised."

Denise shook her head at him and then took her own fry. "Call me cotton-headed, but I only realized just now who lived there. God, Rick, you're so stupid."

"Stupid?" Rick leaned back in his seat, smirking secretly at her attire.

She switched lanes, swinging her head back and forth from the road to him to get a proper scolding in. "Yeah, stupid! You've always been a smart-guy kind of stupid but this...this is borderline NOT smart-guy stupid this is...stupid-guy stupid! And don't get me started on how terrible it's going to be working alone with that red-haired beast when you get kicked off the case! You two _should_ be kicked off the case! The fact that Alannah got to stay due to her two wonderful talents of being super emotionally-detached, and awesome Olivia Benson investigating is NOT flipping fair!"

"Wait—what?" Rick turned to Denise. "That's why she's still on the case?"

Denise stopped chewing to look at Rick. "Um...yes? You didn't know? She's got the captain under her perfect eyebrow."

"I'm surprised you didn't say anything to anyone." He raised his eyebrows. "You don't like Alannah—you never have."

"Does it look like I want to working side by side with your French ex-girlfriend at Noodle Poodle? HELL NO, RICK GRIMES. I do not want to be selling pasta to a bunch of stuck-up citizens through a fucking glass window. I DO NOT. But that's exactly what'll happen if I ruin the Captain's reputation." She grabbed a handful of fries and stuffed them into her mouth. "I am so not going to have a job at the end of the week. You two...always so close in your bad deeds. I don't get why you're friends with her."

"She's my partner."

"You can hate your partner, Rick."

"Well, then maybe she's more. I can't imagine myself being who I am if I had never met her. She's a strong and amazing woman. My guess is you've just never seen the right side of her." He said.

Denise sighed. "Okay, so, _maybe_ I judged her too quickly." She sighed again. "I finally moved out of the Monroe's and got my own apartment. I'm finally dating again...I can't lose my job too." Denise turned a corner, Rick's house was in sight. "You do know I love you, right? Even if I get you and your girl fired?"

Rick eyed her sympathetically, though he was still trying not to laugh at her rants.

Rick smirked. "Yeah, I do."

"Good." She sighed, fixing her glasses. "Then...I won't say a thing."

He raised a brow. "I feel bad for that."

"Yeah? Well, don't. I never hated her."

"Michonne?"

"Yeah. Even when I thought that she was maybe a murderer. I liked her. That's wrong, because I'm supposed to be void of emotion and opinions at the station but...yeah, you get it, right?"

"Yeah." Rick sighed as he squinted up at the road ahead of them. "Me too."

Denise looked to him then turned back to the road.

Rick was swiping through his phone.

She looked back at him, squinting, then looked to the road again.

Rick looked up from his phone to smirk. "What is it, Denise?"

"N-nothing. I was just admiring your beautiful profile. Has anyone ever told you that you have a gorgeous profile? Because you do—"

"Denise." He turned to her. "What's on your mind?"

"Is it sex? Is it _just_ sex? I know you're not that kind of a guy and if you were I'd be damn-to-hell surprised, but is it? Just sex? Is it sex at all?"

He curled his eyebrows, as if he were embarrassed to talk about it. "We've...never had sex."

"At all? Not even once? We both know it's been a while for you."

He embarrassingly shook his head. "Not at all. Not even once."

"So does that mean it's really genuine? It's about feelings? You don't just want sex?" She asked.

"I never said that." He settled back in his seat, sighing from tiredness. "I don't know what it is." He laughed softly. "I don't know."

"Is it like the way it was with Genevieve? Interesting for a few months?"

"Doesn't feel like it." Rick shut his eyes. "But it hasn't been a few months. So I wouldn't know."

Denise burst into a chuckle.

"What?"

She shook her head. "Nothing."

* * *

"Mom?"

"What, baby?" Alannah stopped in front of the steps, holding onto a laundry basket to look back at Jesse. He was in his pajamas, hair messy and soft.

"I love you."

She smiled softly. "I love you too, baby." She moved her foot back to go and hug him goodnight but then she remembered the contents of the basket and the risk if he were to ever see them. "Sleep well."

She sighed heavily and descended the stairs.

Downstairs she flicked on a lamp and sat the basket on a table. Alannah moved toward the kitchen to grab a bottle of bleach and plastic bags.

She went back into the living room to dump the stained clothes into one of the bags. She then began pouring the bleach into the bag until her eyes stung. Alannah tied a knot on the wet bag, hurrying to stuff the bag into the other so it wouldn't drip onto the carpet. She closed the last bag and stuffed the package into the trash can.

Alannah dusted off her hands.

She slipped out her phone from the strap of her bra.

She scrolled through her contacts, stopping at the R's. She clicked Rick's name. Then the 'message' option.

For a moment she just scrolled endlessly over their previous texts, every one they'd sent to each other over the 4+ years they'd known each other. She laughed, giggled, teared up. Then sighed and scrolled back to their more recent messages. Still no reply.

She began tapping in a message, biting on her lip and leaning against the kitchen's dishwasher. She sat there contemplating whether she should send it in.

"It was inevitable, Alannah." She murmured to herself before tapping SEND.

Sending…

.

(..)

(…)

 ***fwoosh***

 _Alannah Walsh_ _(JUST NOW):_ **Over the years that we've known each other, Rick, I found this warm comfort in being around you. Especially with all of the help you put in. Practically raising Jesse, and helping me get through the divorce. It was so hard to avoid, so Rick, I just feel like it's time to tell you that I have been crazy in love with you the entire time. I love you, Rick.**

* * *

 ** _Oo_**

"Gah!" Michonne screamed after smashing her phone against his face. Mike seemed to lose his balance and fall backward on the ground. Michonne, in pain, slid across the ground toward the stairs. She saw Mike stirring and whimpered as she went up the stairs.

She made it to the very top before Mike was trudging up after her. She looked back once and saw a droplet of blood trailing down the side of his face from a gash above his eyebrow.

"Stop! Please, Mike, stop! LEAVE ME ALONE!" He grabbed her by her shoulders to stand her up, she was sure to have a bruise from how hard the grip was.

She lifted her head to look at him.

In his eyes were a fierce anger, his dark eyes seemed to have a small glow.

" _I hate you so much_." He whispered.

She felt a pang at her heart. "Let me go!" She punched out, feeling skin tear and blood drip against her ring.

Mike cried out in pain and kneed Michonne in the stomach.

"Oof!" Michonne thought that tonight's dinner would come up but it didn't. She couldn't die here by his hands, she had to survive. She tore her necklace from her throat and brought it around his neck, Mike and her fell to the ground as she struggled to get him to pass out. But they slipped, and they were both sent flying down the stairs.

The crunch of their bodies slamming against the ground was booming. Her necklace slid across the ground. Michonne winced as she peeled herself up from the ground. Mike was rolling in pain, but picking himself up.

He went for Michonne, who was going for her phone. Tears were rolling down her face as her fingers barely brushed the phone and then she felt Mike jump at her, something thick clamped onto her neck and tore away.

Michonne screamed out in pain, as blood began squirting from the neck wound, she looked back as her vision became blurry to see Mike's mouth was smeared with her blood.

 _He bit me_ , she thought as she was close to losing her consciousness.

For some reason, Mike was going after her again.

But some arms swined around Mike's neck, the arms were light-skinned peppered with freckles. Mike was pulled back.

"What the fuck?! Get…off…of…HER!"

All Michonne saw was hazel eyes and curly red hair.

"A…lannah?" Michonne realized through her daze.

Alannah had gotten Mike away from Michonne.

"Mike…?" Alannah looked messy, a dirty blue coat and jeans. She stared into her cousin's eyes as he was trying to sit up. "Why are you attacking Michonne? What's wrong with you?"

"WHY'D YOU STOP ME!?" Came Mike's roar, knocking Alannah in the face with his hand.

Alannah, in pain, was sitting up in shock and saw that he was coming after her.

She sprang to her feet, Mike on her tail and slipped on the rug near the table, she reached up and grabbed a knife from the table to protect herself.

Michonne was lying on the ground, they weren't far from her. She could see Alannah was fear-stricken as Mike seemed to want to attack her. After a moment of silence he took a step toward Alannah, who panicked and stabbed him in the chest.

* * *

Michonne gasped, jumping up in bed. The room around her was dark, and hot. She blinked, sweat coating her neck and arms. The dream was in flashes, in quick moments. She knew dreams weren't real, but this one…she knew that this most certainly happened.

"I…think I remember." Michonne whispered with confused eyes.

* * *

 **Can I get a favorite moment, quote, and character of this chapter? + Q &A TIME: Do you guys hate or sympathize with Alannah? Do you think Rick and Michonne should stop this whole romance thingy? See y'all next time.**

 **EDIT: SO I just got this review and I wanted to share my response to it, with y'all just in case any of you are thinking this.**

 **THE REVIEW:**

 _I don't get the question in your A/N this is chapter. This is a Richonne romance story correct? So why would people want you to stop the romance angle? It seems like after chapters of saying Rick had no interest in Alannah, that now he does? Am I reading the story wrong? I'm just confused because Richonne has felt this pull and attraction from the start so why would ypu change that?_

 **MY RESPONSE:**  
 _The question meant that, should they wait until they're able to be together (when the investigation's over/Rick quits/gets kicked off) or just continue to sneak. This is a Richonne story, but that doesn't mean that everyone would want Rick and Michonne sneaking around with a relationship. Rick thinks of Alannah as his closest best friend, he is not interested in her that way. I made sure it was shown over the chapters that Rick cares deeply for her platonic-ally. Like at the funeral repass when Alannah was angry about Rick spending time with Michonne instead of her-his response was not mean or petty. And the fact that he hasn't confronted her about her involvement with Mike's death or turned the evidence-that points to her-in. In no way have I tried changing Richonne's pull and attraction, it makes me sad that you saw it that way but I'm just letting you know now that none of the assumptions in your message are true._

 **Deuces! :)**


	9. Chapter Nine of Many

**hello! i'm back sooner than usually! We're nearly at 100 reviews, WOW. I thank you all for supporting this fanfic! The times that I was too lazy to write a chapter makes me hate myself lol. I didn't appreciate you guys as much as I should have. TYSM :)**

* * *

After two days of thinking, debating and torturing herself with everything that was going on, Michonne was now standing outside of Rick's apartment door, which was on the third floor. His room door number was Apt. 183.

She'd gotten the address from the station since she had no other way of contacting him.

She was finally going to tell him—and probably break his heart in the process—everything. From the abuse, to the Walsh's pedophilic family member and lastly, the recovered memories of the events of that night and that his partner had actually been the one to murder Mike and has been lying to him the entire time.

She wore a black frilly blouse and a black skirt, with a blue furry overcoat, she wasn't going to risk turning into an ice sculpture. Michonne clutched a blue-lidded Tupperware container, inside was chocolate chip cookies she had made a few hours ago for dessert. She didn't know why she brought it while knowing he probably wouldn't eat it after learning all of the information.

She breathed deeply before raising her fist and knocking four times.

Suddenly, her stomach fluttered heatedly and she was attacked with nervousness. Michonne quickly pulled the hairclip from her dreads and stuffed it into her pocket, she let the cords stream wealthily down her back. All while the door was swinging open.

She was welcomed to the appearance of Rick. He wore a white t-shirt and baggy blue pajama bottoms. His hair was a curly, fuzzy dark mess.

"Room service?"

Michonne rose her eyebrows.

"Just kidding."

She laughed weakly, as she stared at his genuine smile.

 _He's going to lose that smile_ …she thought. _Because of me._

 _But…_

 _Do I really have to tell him?_

"How did you know where I lived?"

"Got it from at the station, they gave it out to me so easily. You should probably tell them not to. Wouldn't want any previously prosecuted criminals to come after you." She said.

"Yeah…you're right." Rick slipped one of his hands around her waist and leaned in, pressing his lips against hers.

She chuckled through the kiss. "We… _mmm_ …haven't even gotten into the room yet."

With the satisfying smack of their lips parting, Rick pulled her inside the room by her unoccupied hand.

"I don't care." He kicked the door shut with his feet, which he wore black and blue flip flops on.

The carpet beneath her was an ugly orange and green stripe one, but it certainly set the warm, home-like mood. She loved it.

"Look, Rick, there's something I have to tell you." She blurted.

"Me too." He helped her by taking the Tupperware out of her hand and setting it on the counter.

"Really?" She raised her chin curiously. "What is it?"

He grabbed each of her hands in his. "No, you first."

" _Mmm mmm_." She shook her head reluctantly. "You. First."

Rick shrugged. "Okay. Fine."

"Well…?" She curiously widened her eyes up at him.

"I'm not drunk." He said, while interlacing their fingers.

She raised one of her eyebrows. "Okay…?"

"I'm not suffering from lack of sleep, and I'm not torturing myself with the fact that maybe you killed Mike—because now I know you didn't. I'm myself right now."

"Are those accomplishments?" She asked with a grin as she bit onto her bottom lip, leaning into his chest.

"No…" His voice was smooth and calm. He fit his chin on top of her head as she pressed her face against his chest, their hands still connected. "I'm just saying…I'm myself, and I still want to be with you, Michonne."

She opened her eyes against him, her eyelashes brushing his shirt. "I feel the same way."

"So, you're not having any second thoughts?" He moved his head back to look at her face.

She lifted her hand to rest on his shoulder. "Would I be waiting for you to kiss me again if I were?"

He smirked, lowering himself to her lips. Her chest began heating up, and her stomach was still fluttering. Michonne tightened her grip on his shoulder to deepen the kiss. They were moving as they made out, until the back of Rick's leg found the arm of the couch and he fell onto it, Michonne on top of him.

She pulled her coat off her arms, fixed her straddling pose and quickened to lock their lips again. Her entire body felt like her heartbeat, she was just thumping.

She let her fingers explore his hair, while pushing him toward her.

 ***PING***

Michonne jumped, parting their lips and looking around.

"What was that?"

Rick, rosy-lipped, sat up in question. "Oh, that's my phone. I lost it a few days ago. Someone's texting me. Can you help me look for it?"

Michonne let herself cool down, she had been getting a bit _too_ into the kiss.

She nodded. "It sounded like it was on you, though."

"Really?" Rick stepped off the couch and got on his knees, where he scanned under the couch.

"There we go!" He came away with his phone. "I swear,—" Rick chuckled happily while holding the device— "I really love you."

Michonne froze.

Rick's eyes slightly widened when he realized what he'd just said to her.

"In like a completely platonic way," he continued with an awkward grin. "N-not that we're friends or anything, I just mean—"

"It—it's okay." She blinked. "It was just a slip of the word, I understand." Her heartbeat was pounding roughly in her body.

Rick nodded slowly, looking a bit relieved as he pressed the power button of his phone. As soon as he tapped a few buttons, he seemed to be reading something on his screen, and every second that he read it he seemed to get a bit paler.

"Rick, are you okay?" She asked, crawling off the couch and onto the floor beside him.

She squinted at his screen, holding the side of the phone to get a better look at the paragraphed text, he didn't seem to mind that she was reading it.

"[3 DAYS AGO] from _Alannah_ : _Over the years that we've known each other, Rick, I found this warm comfort in being around you. Especially with all of the help you put in. Practically raising Jesse, and helping me get through the divorce. It was so hard to avoid, so Rick, I just feel like it's time to tell you that I have been crazy in love with you the entire time. I love you, Rick."_

"She confessed." Michonne said out loud, biting her lip and looking over to him. "Finally."

He looked to her. "'Finally'?"

Michonne shrugged, unbothered. "Well, I mean, I'm sure it was obvious to pretty much everyone. Alannah likes to stare."

Rick shook his head at the text. "So random…"

She raised her brows at the man she was sitting beside. "Wow."

"What?"

"Rick Grimes…have you honestly known your partner has been in love with you this _entire time_?!" She was smiling in surprise.

He turned to look at her hesitantly. "…is that wrong?"

"Oh my god!" She shoved his shoulder playfully. "You poker-faced faker! You _knew_!"

He raised his shoulders, holding his hands out in defense. "I-I wasn't even sure! And wouldn't that be a bit narcissistically vain? To guess that someone was in love with you? It was just a…a—"

"A spot on observance, officer." She shook her head at him. "You have successfully skipped past the clueless crush cliché." She brushed off his shoulder, inwardly appreciating him further. For some odd reason this made her like him a lot more if it was possible.

Rick's eyes glinted as he put his phone down. "Call me that again."

Michonne stopped dusting his shoulder to meet his eyes. "…officer?"

Rick sat there a moment, they were both in silence, staring into each other's eyes.

Michonne squealed out loud as he caught her around the waist and knocked her gently to the ground on her back. Rick thumbed her jaw as he gazed at her face, it was almost like he was admiring her. Their lips eventually met, her arms circling around his head, and their bodies tightened against each other's.

 _Maybe it isn't so bad—_ she thought with her eyes shut as his tongue disappeared into her mouth and her lips puckered up against his _—that he doesn't know the truth for now…_

* * *

 _ **I apologize for the short chapter, but I'm happy that I was able to fit everything I wanted into it. Still sorry for it being small. Q &A: What was your favorite line? Did you know that Rick partially knew about Alannah's feelings? What do you think of the new cover? I made it myself! Tee hee!**  
_


	10. Chapter Ten of Many

_welcome back, sweet lovely people ;) it's me again._

* * *

 _Chapter Ten of Many_

"You know, with all this drama talk, I find it hard to believe we actually managed to help Rosita." Carol swallowed a mouthful of ginger tea from a floral glass cup.

Tara smirked. "We're mature, fun, women, we know how to balance things out."

The room of 5 women erupted in laughter, only to die down at two soft knocks at the front door.

"Hold on."

Carol sat down her cup, crossed the livingroom to the front door, which she unlocked and pulled open.

"Michonne…" she trailed, surprised.

Michonne stood on the porch looking nervous, but to Carol's surprise, she looked...okay. Her skin was glowing, her hair was rippling and there wasn't a bruise in sight.

"Can I join you?"

* * *

How do you confront this situation when you're in his position? You knew your best friend had special feelings for you, and you never faced it but now she confesses?

Rick's hands were moist as he gripped the sides of his pants.

He was at the last place he wanted to be, and a few feet away from the last person he wanted to be around.

Alanna was perched in her chair at her desk, face blank and normal as if nothing had happened and it was just a normal life.

Her hair, usually bright and vibrant in its scarlet appearance was black. And instead of loose curls pinned to the back of her head, they were cords-dreads like Michonne's.

He scrunched his eyes at the sight, but didn't question it.

He swallowed his fear and approached the side of her desk.

"Ala-"

"It's fake." She interrupted, while not looking up from her paperwork.

"What?"

She sighed, meeting his eyes and tugging a dread. "My new hair. It isn't real. Do you like it?"

He curled his brows. "Yeah, they're nice."

"So…"

"So?"

"So how's Michonne?"

Rick chuckled, looking at the desk to lessen the embarrassment. "What are you trying to say, Alannah?"

"I know there's...something there with her already so what's the point in keeping it low key?" She licked her thumb and turned the page with it.

Rick's heart was in a panic over this conversation, but he didn't show it. "Is this the part where you threaten to tell the captain if I don't stay away from her?"

"How foolish, Rick. You thinking I'd do you dirty like that." She looked up to him.

Alannah was weird today, and not in a good way. The aura reminded him of someone who had nothing to lose.

"No, Rick. This is the part where I ask you out on a date." She bravely put with a confident glint in her eyes.

Rick scrunched up his entire face. "What?"

"We've been friends for too long, far longer than I'm comfortable with." She bit her bottom lip while her eyes traveled him up and down, it just made him feel uncomfortable. "So what do you say?"

"No, thank you." He declined, turning away and heading over to his desk.

* * *

"Tell him! What the hell are you waiting for? Her to lie on you first?" Jacqui shouted passionately.

After an evening of relaying the events of her life to the women's group, she was flooded with advice, and she was thankful for it.

"But that's his homegirl." Arat butt in. "Why would you, as his girlfriend or whatever you are, pit them against each other?"

The causality of the conversation was due to the fact that she had put a play on the story and left all the murder bits out.

And thankfully they didn't even have one question to ask about the murder, but she had a feeling it was in the back of all of their minds.

"I have to agree," Carol said, surprisingly, she was on her fifth cup of tea. "Alannah doesn't seem like a terrible person. Just jealous and desperate. If you tell him, he'll probably think _you're_ the jealous type just trying to get his best friend out of the way."

Michonne sighed, if only they knew the intensity of the real situation.

"I think... I'll just do what the situation calls for." Michonne said out loud, reaching for her phone which had been in her purse pocket. "I'll tell you what I do when I do it."

"We hope." Arat nodded to Jacqui. "This is your new relationship, don't screw it up."

* * *

It had been a few days since she'd been at Rick's place, and this time she had a different treat. Instead of brownies she held a tray with two cups of heavily creamed coffee inside.

"Are you looking for Rick Grimes?"

Michonne whirled so fast and startled that the tray slipped from her hands and crashed into the grass, creamy coffee splashed the plants and flowers.

"Holy balls!" Exclaimed Michonne, fierce hot anger in her eyes as she stared at who'd spoken.

It turned out to be a taller asian dude, black hair brushed back on his head, and there was a band around his neck, it was connected to the camera he had in his hands.

"You're Michonne Tilley, right?"

A dude who knew her name, and carried a camera? Typical…

She played along anyhow.

"Who's asking?"

The guy adjusted on his feet. "Oh, uh, Glenn...Glenn Rhee. I work for the _Atlanta Express_."

* * *

And it couldn't help anything that she had been standing outside of Rick Grimes' home in a mid-thigh skirt and fishnet stockings with coffee, considering he's one of the detectives on her case.

 _Fuck_ , this was bad.

She scrunched her eyebrows at him while shaking her head. "Are you _following_ me? Cause that's really fucking low dude, what's your problem?"

In her head she was biting on her fist anxiously.

Michonne also shifted on her feet awaiting an answer while thankful the reporter's camera wasn't on and in her face.

"I wasn't following you." He replied quickly, looking behind him almost anxiously.

This fool…

"Are you kidding me?"

"Shh." Glenn looked around. "I was hanging with some friends. They followed you here."

Michonne blinked at him. "Wha-?"

"They're gonna find out about your detective boyfriend if you don't leave this place."

Say what?

Michonne brushed the side of her face. "He's not my boyfriend."

"Doesn't matter, let's go." He reached out and grabbed her hand, Michonne just ran along with panic in her heart.

She shook her hand out of this dude's grip as they got up the block, and turned the corner where she saw her car parked in front of a wig shop.

"Why-?" She began as soon as they stopped.

"Didn't I just take the story for myself and out your relationship to the public?" Glenn shrugged with a proud smile. "I'm a good person."

She shook her head at him, "...thank you. But he's still not my boyfriend." She began to walk to her car.

"Yeah, keep telling yourself that." He yelled to her back with a laugh.

She waved him off, taking out her keys.

* * *

After an hour of driving around the city with nothing in mind, Michonne had parked to the side of the road by a park and ate everything she'd had in her car.

 _Ping!_

She, in the process of licking her fingertips clean of yogurt, looked over to her phone innocently. She grabbed it and on the lit screen was a text from a number she didn't recognize

[ hoover's drive in 10? ]

She knitted her brows.

( Wrong number, sorry )

[ It's rick ]

Michonne raised her brows.

( How did you get my number? )

[ Where do I work? ]

She smirked, shaking her head.

* * *

Maggie was lying on across Alannah's lap, her face bloated and red.

Alannah sighed, running her fingers through her silky mane. "It's okay. It's fine, things will get better."

"No," she sniffled. "No they won't."

She felt bad. Maggie was supposed to be her best friend and she had no idea what had been going on.

Long story short, Maggie had gotten a little too intimate with her coworker David, and was caught in the act by Glenn when he had returned from Marietta. The two broke up.

"The worst thing about it is...he's okay." Maggia scrubbed at her tears. "He can go back to his job as a reporter and he'll probably meet other people and he'd be okay. I mean we only dated for 5 months, it can't be that serious to him."

"Girl, you can't sit here and sulk." Alannah lifted her from off her lap. "Get your man. It's what I'm doing."

Maggie looked confused. "How? Did Rick say he had feelings for you too?"

"Not exactly. But that doesn't matter." Alannah shrugged. "It's not impossible to make someone fall in love with you. There's just...some people you have to get rid of, parts of yourself that you have to show."

* * *

Hoover's Drive was a place Michonne had never gone to, but apparently it was a diner. She stepped in through the doors immediately welcomed to a dim atmosphere. It smelled of coffee, chocolate and pancakes.

Michonne made her way to the booths. Rick was slumped against the wall in the last booth in the farther corner of the room on his phone.

 _God...this is embarrassing_ , she thought as she checked her outfit. _I look fine, hopefully_.

She noticed a Beyonce song was playing through the speakers as she tried to casually stroll over to Rick.

She slid into the seat across from him.

"Is this a date?"

Rick looked up from his phone, surprised at her presence. "Uh…yeah, but apparently I already have a date with Alannah at Greer House."

Michonne giggled. "You're joking." She reached out and began drinking the water in front of her.

"No, seriously, she asked me out, and even after I said no, she sent me directions."

Michonne began chuckling. "Well, does she know? About us? Or...that you don't have the same feelings for her?"

"Nope. She knows nothing. I was too nervous to say anything." Rick sat his phone down in front of himself.

"Then that's your problem." Michonne continued sipping. "I don't want to be involved in Alannah's mess. She has feelings for you? I don't care at all, to be honest. The heart wants what it wants. As long as it doesn't affect us, I'm good."

"That's a good way of thinking. Clears you of any stress, but you're totally abandoning me here, Michonne."

She laughed softly with him.

Why did she find him so funny? Was this just attraction?

"I'm sorry," she smiled. "I just feel like I'm setting myself up for failure when I try to do ANYTHING with that woman. But she's pretty cute, I'll give her that."

Rick looked at Michonne fully. "She has hair like you now."

"Hmm?" Michonne almost choked on her water getting that out.

"Her hair looks almost exactly like yours, I saw it today."

Michonne smirked and looked out the window. "I'm not even going to say anything. Just gonna keep my mouth shut." She imitated a zip over her lips.

Rick chuckled at her, reaching over the table to place his hand over hers.

Shit.

She'd thought it would have subsided by now. All the butterflies and nervousness. Her heartbeat was slowly increasing its rhythm.

* * *

Of all the ways she thought her night would end, she didn't think she'd be in the back of her car, lying on her back, making out with Rick Grimes.

They were all over each other, it was pretty intense. Nothing could be heard but their heavy breathing and faint smooches.

His hands were getting lower and lower, until one was clutching her stockings.

The heat was rising in her stomach, but...it didn't feel right. Not with such a huge secret on the tip of her tongue.

"Rick…" She pulled away from him. "Rick, I have to tell you something."

He was staring down at her, looking as if he would gladly listen to anything she had to say in the moment. "What is it?"

"Well, a few days ago, I awoke from a dream about the night Mike died." She began sitting up.

"Was it a nightmare? Are you okay?" He placed his hand on her shoulder.

She appreciated his concern. "I happen to think that anything involving that night is a nightmare. But that's not the point. The point is, it was way too detailed to be a dream. And I remember every moment of it. It was 100% NOT a dream."

"Then that means you remember." He grinned, looking relieved, yet fearful. "So, what happened?"

Michonne sighed. "It was her. Alannah, she killed Mike."

Rick's hand dropped from her shoulder, his excitement seemed to have died. All in all, he looked completely disappointed.

"But it was self defense." She finished her sentence.

Rick looked up, only to furrow his brows. "But that doesn't make any sense. Why go after you if she would have gotten off easy, no problem?"

"That's the first thing that I wondered. But then I remembered something, she hates me."

"Yeah, but-"

"For so long she's hated me. Ever since she laid eyes on me she's hated me. And...I've always wanted to know why, but it's been in my face this whole time. Like someone was waving a billboard in my face and I completely ignored it."

"What?"

Michonne sighed heavily, feeling relieved yet scared to be relaying this information to him.

But it was the truth.

"She was in love with Mike."

* * *

and we're back with a bang. **pow!**

AHHH, I'M SO EXCITED TO BE BACK!

╰(◡‿◡✿╰)

 _Damn, I'm too excited! And damn, we have 115 reviews! Ahhhhh thank you so much! You're all so sweet wondering when I'd update. I'm super sorry for delaying it for how many months? Yeah, I'm sorry. And I'm all out of excuses!_

 _Tell me what you think! Favorite moment? Favorite line? I love hearing back from you guys!_

 _and i think i've officially lost you guys' trust, i'm sure you'll be expecting chapter 11 in 2019._


	11. Chapter Eleven of Many

hello there.

* * *

Chapter Eleven Of Many

Rick reared back, backing himself into the seat, he looked completely taken aback as if she'd just told him zombies were taking over the world.

"That's…" he chuckled humorlessly. "That makes no sense, he's her cousin."

"It's sick, but unfortunately it happens all the time." Michonne felt as if she were taking a very serious role in this relationship. She was comforting him, and it felt way more intimate than she had expected it to be.

"No, I literally had to hold her hair back as she hurled into a toilet because of a cousin/cousin relationship case we had."

Well damn.

"You should talk to her." Michonne began stroking his shoulder. "There are so many things you two need to resolve."

Rick looked over to her, eyes so intensely blue in a way she'd never seen before.

There was something about this look that made her almost want to gasp. As if he was realizing something, but she didn't know what it was.

"You sure you'd be okay with me meeting with her? She kind of has feelings for me."

Michonne smirked, tilting her head. "Of course. I would never _not_ be okay with you doing something that could help you. This meeting should change lots of things, not only for you...but for me."

"I hope I don't disappoint." He said, completely bare with honesty, she saw the troubled look in his eyes and understood.

"Just remember that she's your friend, but also remember all the things she's done. There's two sides to every story."

* * *

"Now, we both know Rick." Alannah leaned against the doorframe with her arms crossed over her chest. "And obviously we both still have feelings for him."

"What is this about, Alannah?" Lori began spritzing water onto the handlebars of Carl's spinning chair.

Alannah sighed. "Have you met her?"

Lori brushed a lock behind her ear. "Met who?"

"Her. Michonne."

Lori paused her cleaning and set the bottle and rag on the dresser, she was looking through the air in what seemed to be shock. "What—her? That's who he's...wow."

"Exactly. She's going to ruin his life. If they get any closer, he could lose his job, and we know how much it matters to him."

"Are you suggesting we try and break them up?" Lori scrunched her brows. "That's, ah, going too far, don't you think?"

" _Lori_." Alannah's voice got more intense as she crossed the room over to Lori. "You know she has a son. What happens when he starts spending all his time with him? He'll forget Carl ever existed, he'll forget _you_ ever existed."

Lori couldn't call bullshit on anything she was saying. She was right.

* * *

She spread the sequined gown on her bed and admired it. She was glad that though she was tired after her trip back from Macon, she was able to have enough energy to go shopping. Tomorrow would be a very exciting day for her.

Alannah went for her phone after hearing a ping.

[ can we meet up? ]

It was from Rick. She scoffed before typing in a reply.

( oh, you suddenly have time for me now? thanks for letting me sit at Greer house all by myself )

She plopped down on her bed.

[ come on, don't do that. You know i'd already rejected that invitation ]

...true.

(Come to Jesse's birthday celebration tonight at Parks Pops, and maybe i'll have a second to spare.)

…

[alright, but I was coming anyway, i've never missed any of his birthdays. ]

Alannah bit her lip excitedly.

* * *

"This bitch is fucking crazy." Antoinette slurped up a forkful of spaghetti. "How the fuck can anyone enter this realm of crazy?"

"Hey," Michonne dropped into the chair at the kitchen table. "Let's try not to be so hostile. I can understand her."

"Obviously."

Michonne looked to her sister. "...what was that?"

Antoinette innocently ate her noodles. "What was what?"

"That shifty judgey tone you just gave me." Michonne sipped her apple juice.

"It's just that you're _both_ crazy if you think about it." Antoinette sighed heavily. "You're risking so much by being with this dude. Your safety, your...image. Her with her feelings too, her dumb ass. It's already smoking in this home and y'all causing all of this unnecessary drama is just gonna set the whole damn house on fire."

" _Bitch_." Michonne playfully shoved Antoinette's shoulder. "For once in your life, you actually sorta kinda make sense."

Antoinette gently smacked Michonne's head with the magazine she was just reading. "Terrible younger sister, you are."

Michonne giggled for a second before a thought entered her head and she was left blank-faced. "No, but seriously. What are you suggesting I do?"

Antoinette sighed without looking at her. "...I think you already know the answer to that."

Right after she said that, Michonne's phone that was sitting on the table, dinged.

A text, and from Rick.

 **( Apparently, I'm up for a stressful day at Park's Pops with you know who. Question is, are** _**you**_ **up for a stressful day at Park's Pops with her too? )**

* * *

"Sparkling _nutsack_." Michonne grumbled. "You're really asking me to do this."

She was lying on her back on that ugly-colored carpet beside a half-played Monopoly game board, money and small houses were scattered across the floor of Rick's livingroom.

Rick sat on the other side also lying on his back. "If you're not up for it. You don't have to come."

"No, I know." Michonne was playing with one of her locks. "But...damn. Of course I'm up for it now."

Rick rolled onto his elbow to look at her from his spot. "Why?" He quirked a brow.

AASKDLKAFNINFIENWPNFS. That's how her brain felt in that split second.

Michonne's lips opened and then shut. _How fucking...what do I say? I'm the cool girlfriend, how do I play this off?_

"Well-the thing is, Andre _loves_ amusement parks. He begs me to go _all the time,_ it gets really annoying, you know? So as a dedicated mother, I would feel equivalent to a single cow's dropping lying in wet, rained in grass if I just gave up this opportunity so easily." Wooh. Saved.

"I can understand that." He replied.

She realized she'd been staring at the ceiling as she spoke her piece because when she looked at Rick he was no longer across from her, he had come to sit beside her and was collecting Monopoly money in his hands.

Michonne sat up to avoid her underwear being exposed since she wore such a short skirt.

She leaned over and picked up the little houses and board pieces. "I'm sorry that I hate this game so much that I just completely abandoned it. You're really good with properties." She revealed, dropping the objects in the box lid.

"At least you're honest." Rick said while stacking the cash in the box. "Some others would've played through the entire game just so they wouldn't hurt my feelings. And while I would've sincerely appreciated that effortful process, honesty would have been so much more admired."

Michonne got on her knees to fold the board. "Sounds like you've experienced that before. May I have the name or _names_ of 'some others'?" She smiled jokingly, setting the board inside its box.

"Yeah...I feel as though we have yet to fall intensely enough into the depths of this relationship for me to be relaying the names of my exes to you. It's all about the caution, honestly, Who knows what could happen to them? You're a very dangerous woman." Rick closed the Monopoly box and pushed it aside.

"Well, I imagine you must think pretty highly of yourself if you think I'd allow my dangerous side play a role in a jealous revenge plot over a simple man such as yourself." She leaned on her arm.

" _Simple_ , huh? Guess that says alot about what you're into."

She crawled closer on her knees.

"Crap buckets," she replied, looking to the ceiling. "How embarrassing of me."

Caught by surprise by a gently grasp at the back of her neck, her propped arm lost its balance and she landed on her back, the carpet digging into her skin. Which in other circumstances would have been noticeably painful had her focal point not been on the fact the Rick was on top of her, practically straddling her. But he was a big guy, she could tell he was holding up his weight so as not to crush her flat.

"Are you going to tell her about us?" Michonne asked.

Rick, staring down, shrugged. "I think with you there, she'd already know."

He placed a short kiss to her lips.

"But a confirmation...would you give her that?"

"Yes."

Didn't take more than a second for their faces to mash perfectly in sync with their desperation and lust. Michonne gripped his curls so tightly as if she were trying to meld him into her. She rolled over, now being the one to straddle Rick.

She never realized how tiny she was until she was lying on top of him.

She intertwined her legs with his as they continued to kiss, with an aura much like careless lovers with nothing, absolutely nothing to lose.

Michonne's back hit soft, fluffy sheets, Rick's weight once again not being a problem as he landed on top of her. Her skirt was riding up, Rick's hand was clutching her thigh.

From the livingroom to the bedroom...was this really going to happen?

She felt the buttons of her top being undone quickly, cool air rushing at her chest. She wore only a round cotton pink bra now. It made her feel nervous as if this were her first time doing anything remotely sexual with someone.

She peppered kisses down the side of his throat while yanking the hem of his shirt up and over his head, their faces collided again. Sloppy kisses full of desire and energy.

 _Ping!_

No one went for it.

She traced the side of his torso with her hand, pressing him down onto her, but then let go and pulled back into the sheets with a soft moan.

"You should get that."

Rick, wild-haired and breathing heavily, exhaled. His chest had been thumping. He grabbed his phone from the bedside table, still on top of her and clicked on the screen.

He'd expected a text from Alannah, but instead it was from Lori.

 _(That hoe you work with is crazy. Bitch really tried it today. Call me.)_

* * *

 **damn...guess it wasn't 2019 after all... haha.**

 **tell me what you thought! I want to know! What was your favorite line?**

 **stay tuned, lovelies.**


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